I Wonder What Human Flesh Tastes Like by Justin Isis

What?
    — She said ‘Miyabi takes me for granted, my dad loves her more even though she’s lazy, no one appreciates me...’
    — I know... she can be a bitch sometimes, Miyabi said. Taku, your voice is awesome. Let’s get married now.
    — What about Manami?
    — Hey, do you remember we promised we’d marry each other if we hadn’t met anyone by the time we were 21?
    — Yeah, but...
    — What?
    — We were like, ten. And I’m going out with Manami.
    — So? Leave her.
    Taku’s eyes took on a furious cast of concentration. He looked, Miyabi thought, as if she’d just presented him with an insoluble equation.
    — I’m just joking, Takumi.
    The strips of dead skin lay on the table between them. Miyabi picked one up and examined the tiny striations on its surface.
    — What percent of the day do you spend thinking about me? she asked.
    — I don’t know... five, maybe?
    — Only five! What else do you think about?
    Taku looked away.
    — I don’t know. Just whatever’s happening to me at the moment.
    — Do you think about having sex with Manami?
    — How am I supposed to answer that?
    — Just yes or no.
    — Yes.
    — What percentage?
    — What is this what percentage thing?
    — Is it more than the five percent when you’re thinking about me?
    Taku stared at her for a moment and opened his mouth, slightly, as if he was about to say something. Miyabi got to her feet and picked up the mug from where he’d placed it on the sill.
    — I’m just joking, Taku. I don’t know why you get so uptight. Do you want any more tea?
    Later, when he had left, Miyabi pulled off her pants and examined her thigh. The red circle was covered in tiny scabs from scratching. She ran her finger over it gently before lying back on the bed. She was tired from talking so much.
    As she felt her eyes closing there was a sharp rush of sound. After a few moments it came again.
    She walked to the window. A fly was caught in the wire screen, and in its frantic buzz, she could hear the scrambled voice of a child, a toddler perhaps, broadcast by a far off station. She pressed it through the screen with her finger and saw it drop to the railing below.
    Next to her on the table was the dead skin she’d torn from Taku. Miyabi began to pull it apart, piece by piece, until it lay in shredded scraps.
    •
    Momoko handed her a newspaper on which she’d drawn red circles.
    — There’s lots of part-time stuff open, she said. I’ve circled everything I think you could get.
    — All right. I’ll take a look at it.
    — No, see... I want you to do it now. I want you to go through it with me.
    Momoko had walked in without knocking and was sitting across from her at the table. She flipped through the paper and landed on another page, its boxes circled in red. Her movements were brisk and precise.
    — What are you talking about? Miyabi said.
    — I’m not putting up with this anymore, Miyabi. I’ve gone out of my way to... indulge you, but I can’t, I can’t do it anymore.
    Momo was looking down at the table now, her lips curling.
    — No, Miyabi said. I mean, what are you really talking about? What’s wrong? Is this about Yutaka?
    — No. It’s about, I can’t afford to keep both of us here like this. I can’t afford to pay for your food, your clothes...
    Miyabi took one of the newspaper sections and stared down at it.
    — Look. I’ll go through it with you, just, will you tell me what’s wrong?
    — What’s the point? You wouldn’t listen anyway.
    — I always listen to you.
    Momoko made a pathetic sound.
    — Hey... come on, just tell me.
    — It’s Yasu.
    — Yeah?
    Momoko was covering her face with her hands.
    — What is it?
    — I already told you about it. I could tell you weren’t listening. And I’m sick of having to go out all the time. I want to know that I can bring friends here without having to worry... without having to worry about you!
    She watched Miyabi through her fingers. An aura of fantastic persecution surrounded