The Butcher

The lights flicker in the cold room, as the sound of a cleaver rips through the flesh and hits the marble slab below. The Think blood runs slowly over the marble counter and slowly drips to the tiles below pooling up on the floor as a small stream runs under the table and down the drain.

His breath leaves a frosty mist with each exhale, his eyes slim and red as he methodically chops with a powerful yet graceful swing. He hits the slab and blood splatters up onto his face and his once-white apron. With the back of his left hand, he wipes the blood splatter off his stubbled cheek and flicks it on the floor.

He pushes the stack of meat over to his assistant for her to wrap. He turns his massive frame and lumbers over to the sink, blood drips from his leathered hands as he grabs the stainless steel handles turning on the water. Steam rises from the sink as he scrubs the stains, the white soap runs pink as it swirls in the bottom of the sink. He pulls off his apron tossing it on the floor and heads to the door, he grabs a flyer from the counter. He holds the flyer up in the light and reads the address on the bottom before crumpling it up and dropping it beside the bloody apron, he has to duck as he walks through the door. It swings back and forth allowing light from the storefront to sway in and out with each swing. The paper slowly unravels revealing the crumpled-up image of a wrestling ring in front of some old-looking temple with the words Ultra Slam II.

The sun blazes down as he lumbers to the small compact Toyota Corolla, as he sits down in the driver's seat the car shifts lowering down slightly. Starting up the car and turning the AC on full blast he looks down at the gas gauge then attaches his phone to the holder on the dash. Pulling up WAZE he puts in his destination of Chichen Itza, Mexico. Calculating the route a voice comes across the speakers, "You will arrive at your destination in 46 hours. You will travel 2,607 miles." Letting out a huge sigh he slams the shifter into gear he pulls out on the busy highway cutting off a large semi truck. The trucker lays on the horn only to get a single finger flashed his way in response. The sun sets on the highway as the Corolla drives off directly in that direction.