“So,” the friendly woman smiled again, feeling like this would be a very quick and easy interview and wanting to get things sorted as soon as possible for the sweet and enthusiastic young meat-girl who sat opposite her, “you’ve booked a hall with a big oven where you will be cooked on Christmas Day, that is the twenty-fifth of December this year?” She looked to Samantha for confirmation and the girl nodded. “Good. Do you know if there will be caterers or if your parents will be preparing you themselves?”

“Oh, just us.” Samantha smiled. “I’ll help out as much as I can but only up to a certain point of course!” She giggled and Angela could not help but smile. “I know Mum’s been watching tutorials on YouTube and Dad…” she paused for a moment to think how best to express this, “He’s very good at doing what he’s told! So I’m sure it will all go well!”

“Well I’m glad to hear it!” Angela laughed. “Now, please forgive me but I do have to ask these questions.” Samantha nodded to show that she understood. “You are aware that if you are cooked and eaten, you will die and that your death will be functionally permanent?”

“Functionally?” Samantha frowned a little. “What does that mean? Aren’t you either dead or you’re not?”

“I’m sorry,” Angela gave a wry chuckle, “we had to add that caveat due to pressure from different religious groups who hold strong beliefs about an afterlife or a time in the future when the dead will be brought back to life. Not to mention the paranormal researchers who insist the consciousness can survive the death of the body in some form or another.” Samantha looked a little sceptical but expressed that she understood. “Sorry,” Angela smiled again, “I probably should have explained that but it always feels so convoluted that I usually just try to say the word quickly and hope that my interviewees don’t pick up on it. In fairness, you’re the first this month who has!” Samantha grinned, feeling rather pleased with herself. “So when I say functionally dead, I mean that your life in its current form will end and you will no longer have a place in nor be able to interact with the world in the way that you currently do.”

“Soooo… like, dead?” Samantha giggled. “Yeah I think that’s pretty clear. Once you’re cooked and eaten you’re dead and you stay dead. Yes, I am aware.”

“Good!” Angela chuckled. “And sorry again about making that question more complicated than it needs to be but there are some people out there who just seem to enjoy making life difficult rather than just taking a question or statement in the spirit it’s intended!”

“Oh trust me, I know!” Samantha laughed in solidarity. “Any other questions?”

“Yes.” Angels smiled apologetically once more. “Are you aware that the preparation and cooking process can be painful and that, since each individual experiences and processes pain stimuli differently, no reliable prediction can be given for the pain involved in any given method?”

“Well I figured being gutted, stuffed and roasted alive might be a little uncomfortable!” Samantha giggled. “Yes, I understand it will hurt and that there’s no way of knowing how much until it happens!”

“Good.” Angela made some notes on her computer. “Well that seems to be everything covered! Unless you have any questions for me or anything else you want to tell me?” Samantha shrugged and shook her head. “Well in that case, congratulations!” she grinned. “You’re a fully certified meat-girl!” She pressed a button on her computer and the printer beside it whirred into life. “Just sign here, please.” She passed Samantha a pen and tapped the line at the bottom of the certificate. Samantha did as she was asked, feeling proud of the swirly signature she had been practising, trying to match the S at the start of her name to that at the start of Sidney Roebuck’s, then handed back the pen. Angela added her own signature to make everything official then folded the certificate into an envelope along with the form that Josh had filled in. “Keep this safe.” she cautioned. “You might be asked to produce it, and your parents should definitely have it with them on your harvest day.” Samantha nodded, taking the envelope and holding it tightly, treating it with as much reverence as if it were made from gold leaf. “You’ll get an email copy too,” Angela assured her, “but it’s important to keep the original.”

With their business concluded, she showed Samantha back down the corridor to the waiting room where two more girls, one an excitable blonde of maybe seven years old and the other a rather sullen black-haired teen, both dressed in the uniform of other local schools, were waiting with their respective parents. Samantha noticed with amusement that her dad seemed to be deeply engrossed in something that Amelia was showing him on her phone.


To be continued...