H is for Hipster

H is for Hipster.

The reason the new eatery stood out so much to Donald, was its choice of setting up shop in a part of town where the most exotic experience to be had was a mangey charity shop for a local cat charity. But that’s how these Hipster cafe’s start isn’t it, they move into a place with low rent and once they are established others move in. ‘Gentrification’ they call it, nice if you can afford to go to these places but they always cost an arm and a leg…
Thankfully for Donald, money really was not a problem. Donald would like to say he was one of those geeks that invented an app that changed the world, or at least helped soak up some of that teenage time that is so lucrative these days, but the truth was his parents were very, very rich, both died before they were fifty and left their rather tidy bank balance to Donald, their only child.

As any one with new money will tell you, the first thing you must do is go out and buy a house with more bathrooms then you’ll ever use, an indoor pool that will stink the rest of the basement out with chlorine and then of course there’s the expensive clothes. At one stage Donald wouldn’t wear anything but Gucci, including socks and pants; did you know you can even get Gucci toilet paper! The thing is, after a while such things become pointless, they become everyday things that you have. The back bedroom was filled with boxes of shoes Donald never wore along with a ton of gold bracelets, rings and pendants, all just to show everyone else how rich he had become.

For the first year Donald felt like a king, but after a while people with less then him got jealous and ignored both him and his wealth; while those with the same amount of cash or more either didn’t see what was that special or they would go out of their way to outdo Donald with something more extravagant.
Eventually Donald realised that the only way his fat wad of cash was going to make him happy (and noticed again) was to spend it on what the super rich simply called, “Experiencers”.

And so Donald went down that road. First he got dropped off by helicopter on top of Egypt’s three most famous pyramids, The Great Pyramid of Khufu, The Great Pyramid of Kahfre and The Great Pyramid of Menkaure. As amazing as those views were, after a while Donald realised that there was only so much sand and horizon he could take in without getting completely bored. And so he tried other stuff to satisfy the itch that being incredibly rich just could not quench. Donald went swimming with dolphins in Mexico’s Riviera Maya, walked on the seabed of the Bahamas, just to say he’d been up close to sharks, travelled in a hot air balloon across the Serengeti National Park, but after a while his eyes stopped seeing how brilliant these things were as they became ordinary; and so Donald found himself chasing something more tangible.

That’s when quite by chance Donald came across this new Hipster bar. Now, Donald has eaten just about every exotic, rare animal, vegetable and mineral out there, so he was more then relived when the maitre’d came over. A tall man, with an immaculately trimmed black beard, quaffed hair and exquisitely ‘dressed down’ in a Vivian Westwood red lumberjack shirt, jeans and hand-stitched wild-bore leather boots. Showing no pretence to keep their conversation private, the maitre’d announced to Donald (and the room) that he recognised the hunger in Donald’s eyes for something more then was on the menu and if he would like to wait until the end of the evening, he could promise Donald a taste sensation. In turn, Donald felt a tingle rush through his body that he had long forgotten was possible, which he knew everyone else in the restaurant could also now feel.
For the next hour the waitress was suitably aloof in her attendance to Donald’s needs, ensuring his glass, (trimmed with gold leaf that dispersed on his lips) was kept topped up with Croizet Cuvée Léonie. To those who have no idea, this just happens to be the most expensive and rare cognac’s in the world.

By closing time Donald was swaying slightly on his barstool. In all honesty he could have happily gone home, grabbing a burger (gourmet of course) on the way and watched some porn on his ‘Stuart Hughes’s television’…never heard of Stuart Hughes? Why would you, very few people can afford a 22ct, diamond encrusted TV set.
As much as Donald wanted to go, he knew that if he turned down the offer waiting for him, it would never be offered again and so he drained his glass as the last of the customers were leaving and followed the waitress through the back swing doors and saw the maitre’d, smiling, “I hope you have enjoyed the ambiance of our little eatery and that the cognac has warmed your soul.

Tingling with anticipation, Donald gave a little chuckle as he was invited through to the VIP lounge; sparsely decorated, a small flambé table where the chef stood, a single round table and two chairs. The red walls contrasted fiercely with the black floor and ceiling; as did the chef’s bright white uniform. Donald noticed that the blond chef sported the same Hipster style of quaffed hair and beard of the maitre’d, who was standing on the opposite side of the private dinning room by a small round table with two chairs either side.
Pulling the chair out, the maitre’d gestured for Donald to sit, then joined him on the other side. The maitre’d then reached inside his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a cigar cutter. Out of all of Donald’s vices, smoking had never been high up on his list, but if the next thing on offer was going to be a, Gurkha Black Dragon, then who was he to refuse?

The maitre’d held the device up to the light and said, “This is one of only five in the whole world, made from extremely rare, Rosé Snake Wood. You see the pink glisten within the tanned wood, It’s a miracle of nature, never been seen since. The blade is made from harden steel and then coated with rhodium, the edges of the wood are trimmed with Cononish Scots Gold. If you look along top edge of this exquisite device you will see it has been encrusted with jadeite.”
Now, normally Donald would normally be lapping this all up, but for the first time in his life it all just felt a little bit too over the top, ‘It’s just a cigar cutter’ thought Donald. Besides, the brandy was now beginning to gurgle in Donald’s gut and the thought of smoking a cigar would be the best ingredient to bring it all back up.
“If it’s all okay with you, said Donald, I’m not in the mood for smoking. even if it is a G. B. D.”
But then the maitre’d showed Donald a small flawless diamond on the side that when pulled down, the blade’s aperture concertinaed tightly shut.
Unable to help himself, Donald blurted out, “I’m a sucker for gimmicks like that, how much for the cigar cutter?”

The maitre’d looked back with some puzzlement, then added, “Oh, I’m sorry if you were misled sir, this device is just part of a bigger ritual, you see this hand crafted device has been specially created as a kitchen utensil, nothing to do with cigars”.
Slightly puzzled by his words, Donald nodded for the maitre’d to continue.
“You’re a man of frivolous wealth, so you understand the need for such extraordinary expensive instruments, they are all part of the performance.”
The Chef then came to the side, wheeling the flambé table all set to show off his cooking skills.

“Our five Star chef is renowned for bringing out the flavours out of the most unusual of dishes. He’s skill is to create flavours that are unique to you and to you alone, flavours that will have you craving for more. Now, I am sure you would like to taste something like that, Sir”.

The truth was, Donald was bored. He had seen such performances, flambéed, dry-iced, sparkled, smeared and candy-popped more times then he cared to remembered and was about to leave when the maitre’d grabbed Donald’s hand, slipped the device over Donald’s middle finger and with a quick flick of the diamond, lopped Donald’s middle finger clean off. The chef then grabbed Donald’s hand, and quickly cauterised the wound with the flat of a soldering iron.

The scream lodged in Donald’s throat, as all urgers to move failed his shocked and horrified body. It was all Donald could do but to just sit and watch as the chef skilfully de-boned Donald’s fingers, stuffed it with an array of ingredients and then shallow fried it in the most delicious, European White Truffle Butter (A smell Donald knew well).
As crazy as it sounds, the smell took away all the pain that was throbbing from Donald’s stump as his mind buzzed with anticipation.

The chef then placed a deep matt black plate in front of Donald, and delicately placed Donald’s cooked finger in the centre of the plate at a millimetre of an angle.
With his good hand, Donald picked up his finger, sniffed in the most amazing aromas then popped the finger in his mouth and was amazed at how the flavours danced across his palate and made his heart sing.
Amazed at how eating his own finger made him feel; slightly dazed Donald lifted his left hand up to his face, slipped off his platinum, diamond encrusted wedding ring (Donald was never married) and offered up his wedding finger to the maitre’d. Again the maitre’d quickly snipped Donald’s finger off and handed it to the Chef who in turn cauterised the wound, then set about de-boned the finger.

The aroma made Donald drool as the chef once again produced the most amazing flavoured tapas which Donald quickly devoured. The maitre’d gave a wry smile and explained that the dishes tasted so good as Donald’s palate was reacting with the unique flavours he had grown up with all his life, the taste of himself. This was why Donald had never experienced such taste sensations before as it was only with the expertise of the chef’s great talents that he was able to bring out the amazing flavours that were causing Donald’s taste buds to sing so widely.

Before Donald had any real contemplation about what he was doing, the maitre’d had snipped off every finger and all of Donald’s toe’s which Donald in turn greedily swallowed. As he took the last gulp of his stuffed big toe, The maitre’d said, “Now sir, there is one more digit that will truly compliment the taste sensation…”
The electric charge, coupled with the smell of cooked flesh, filled the kitchen. By now, Donald had a crazed look in his eyes; he knew he had to take the final step in this ‘experience’.
As he stood up on his back heels, he went to undo his belt around his trousers, only to realise that he no longer had the ability to preform the task. The maitre’d stepped forward, undone Donald’s trousers and slipped the cutting device over Donald’s penis and with a set of Cononish Scots Gold tweezers, stretched Donald’s member as tight as he could before making the final snip.

Donald felt nothing but a lust to taste his meat, only to watch in horror as the maitre’d threw Donald’s manhood in a bucket on the far side of the kitchen, and then high-fived the chef.
Clutching at his groin with his stumps, Donald felt woozy, he was losing blood fast. The maitre’d wrapped his arm around Donald’s shoulder and led him back in to the kitchen and into the walk-in freezer. Along the way Donald spotted a crate of cheap cooking brandy and a rack of empty ‘aged’ Croizet Cuvée Léonie bottles. Donald was equally horrified to see a cardboard box filled with hundreds of identical, ‘digit cutters’ that on mass looked decidedly cheap. The maitre’d then settled Donald by several containers of monosodium glutamate, and said, “Don’t worry sir, it’s all about recognising good taste.”

H is for Hipster

Posted on by admin in creative writing, fiction, Flash Blogs, Flash fiction, Gothic horror, Horror, short, short story, urban gothic Leave a comment

Add a Comment