The Appetite of Thomas Trout

By Jesse Carson

Thomas Trout is a cheerful young loner with a burning passion for exotic cuisine. He appears to be a simple man, but there is something boiling below the surface. After feasting on another homemade masterpiece, Thomas sits down by the fireplace to read the newspaper, as he does every night. Though Thomas doesn’t know it, tonight’s paper will set in motion a chain of events that will permanently alter the course of his life. See the world through Thomas Trout’s eyes as he ventures into the darkest depths of his own psychology, where he will relive horrific memories in order to find clarity and hope, with a little hint of vengeance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jesse Carson
• Release date: Nov 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311345745

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The Appetite of Thomas Trout

Jesse Carson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Jesse Carson

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

A Poem by Thomas Trout

Chapter One

The outside world is typically chilly enough. But today, it also brings along a frigid winter rain. This deadly duo has me shivering deep down in my bones. I leave my shoes by the door, just under my soaked, but neatly-hung evening cloak. The fireplace is cracking with flames. I slip out of my soggy working man clothes and dive into something more leisure; a black t-shirt with pajama bottoms that has Jesus is my Homeboy tagged all over them. They were given to me by a dear, irreplaceable friend named Tagg. A very bright, handsome, young Mormon housepainter that I took great pleasure in once knowing. I sweetly reminisce, anxiously grinning as I return to the kitchen. The tea kettle is furiously hissing at me, insisting that I try a cup. The newspaper on the dinner table is taunting me to look at what is inside. For some reason, I have a very strange feeling about today’s paper, but I have no idea why. The tension in the room is more than apparent, almost over-powering. I can almost SEE the paper throwing strange vibrations outwards. Rippling through the air like a pebble hitting a still pond. I’ll be sure to read it as soon as possible. But unfortunately for my finely folded informant, it will have to wait until after dinner. I never read the paper until after dinner, especially on feasts such as tonight. Right now, I just need to sip a warm cup of tea before I upset the fussy kettle and bask in the savory aroma that’s beginning to hover around the oven.

As I crack open the oven door, an absolutely ambrosial white cloud of smoke rushes out, as if it was desperately dying in the blistering heat. The sweet scent is a masterful mix of slowly roasting carrots, corn, onions, and peas. Added on top is a small dousing of Worcestershire sauce, along with salt, pepper, and tons of garlic. Tragically for this darling pile of steamy love, it recently accompanied my very special ingredient into a deep, mashed-potatoey grave. After I gave the nourishing casserole a moment of prayer (and once the preheat light finally decided to turn off), I laid it to rest and stuck it in the oven at 400 degrees. That was about fifteen minutes ago. Already half-way there. In just fifteen minutes I’ll be sinking my fangs into a heart-melting Shepherd’s Pie! Something I haven’t dared taste since my younger days. Not since my stomach was shattered by the version that my orphanage attempted. Luckily, my tum-tums no longer clenches shut at the very thought of it. I have long since learned that life is a treat. I very much enjoy experimenting with food, and I will gladly face any dish, especially when I have the perfect additions to spice up these dull Magazine recipes.

My stomach is beginning to mumble its daily jibber-jabber. I promptly decide to pass the time with my cherished photo album. After a couple pages of childhood pictures, I flip over to my prized collection of dearest souls; my closest friends! First page: An old colleague from a Church Mission. Betty Hershey. She was a perfectly untainted spirit, who wanted nothing in life but to help everybody she possibly could in her given time. That evening, I myself cut up the meat for the very first time. I made two large pots of Polish Hunter Stew with Betty. I savored every juicy bite of cabbage-wrapped slabs of meat. The harshness of the sauerkraut perfectly countered the sweetness of those divinely tender-roasted chunks. Definitely for meat-lovers such as myself. The trick is to start early and cook the meat as slow as you possibly can, and then wait as long as your belly will allow. After about 8 hours rolling around in it’s pot, the meat will be tender enough to fall through your fork. MMM. Such a tasty memory. That’s the last mental image I have of Miss Hershey. I do, however, have some timer-taken pictures of my handsome self chowing down on leftovers the following night. That was an amazing night for me, and I hope it was for Betty as well. Somewhere deep down inside, something tells me that she definitely enjoyed it.

GRRUUMBLE. My poor tummy suddenly says. I turn my head towards the egg timer by the stove. Four more minutes. The crisping aroma makes my nostrils quiver in anticipation, making the hair on my neck stand at attention. Almost time. I take a suspenseful sip of warm tea to soothe the lining of my empty stomach. Since dinner is almost served, I quickly flip through the photo book and stop at it’s latest entry: The marvelous and saintly Reverend Shepherd!

During my stay at the orphanage, he was my only true friend and mentor. Shepherd taught me how to accept myself for who I am, and to always keep God’s Grace inside of me. On my 18th birthday, when I was finally able to leave that place, Rev. Shep thoughtfully passed me a letter as I hugged him goodbye. Being that I now live my life through his encouraging words, I can almost recite the main point of the letter verbatim: To truly accept our lord Jesus Christ, you must always consume him. Always accept his great offerings of innocent flesh and blood. It will forever drive the devil away. As long as you keep Christ always within you; body, mind, and soul, the Grace of God will always carry itself through your veins, and cleanse your entire spirit. Being closer to God, means being closer to the Light. A blessed light that will eternally drive your shadows away. I hadn’t seen the pleasant man since that fateful day. However, I recently tracked him down and caught up with him just last night, using the opportunity to thank him for the blessed lessons he taught me. When I met up with him near his Church-side suite, I reminded him of that bloody orphanage that I sprang out of as a kid, and how he helped me get through it’s nightmares. I jokingly mentioned their horrible cafeteria food, and particularly their Shepherd’s Pie. Reverend Shepherd (somewhat older now), laughingly hissed about how his family recipe would beat out everybody willing to compete. He tried to blatantly hint that his family actually invented Shepherd’s Pie, but my instinct shrugged it off as an episode of his rarely-seen ego. I decided to take him up on that wager with a good firm hand shake, then I pulled out my Rosary beads from my back pocket and I...*BUZZ*

Excellent. Precisely on cue. Finally, it’s time for us to find out which of mine or Reverend Shepherd’s Shepherd’s Pie will forever reign supreme. I open the oven hatch and take three strong whiffs of the coming casserole. It’s just starting to bubble, faster and faster. I switch from bake to broil for just a few minutes and keep a close eye as it browns. After that, I take it out and place it upon the heat rack to cool. Then I set the table, pace around the kitchen for a few minutes, and now here I sit...Wow...What was formerly a mashed-potatoey-grave, is now a beautiful, bubbling, breathing blob of Awesome God! The resurrection from that 400 degree hell is a magical, glorifying site. My face is completely free of expressions. I’m confident that my Shepherd’s Pie will beat Rev. Shep’s, even though I genuinely believed him when he said that his was good. But still, how could you beat my Shepherd’s Pie? Especially when my secret ingredient is the juiciest, most tender cuts off of the freshly butchered Reverend Shepherd himself!? I recite my daily dinner prayer while I eyeball a piece of bacon-wrapped ass-meat from my dearly beloved Father, as it threatens to wobble and roll right out of the casserole. Yum!! A Reverend Shepherd Shepherd’s Pie. A great delight for you and I. No. Really just a great delight for me. And me alone. I touch a finger to the meat and taste it with a quick lick. Oh My...The natural oils of the sautéed veggies formed a colorful, zesty sauce when they cooked alongside Mr. Shepherd’s Godly flesh. Before I cooked it, I split each butt cheek open and stuffed in some mozzarella cheese with 8 chopped up bacon strips. I enjoy having a tasty treasure to dig for, come dinnertime. And dinnertime has indeed arrived.

Chapter Two

As I wait for my meal to cool, I honor and admire Reverend Shepherd’s life as I watch his crispy flesh sizzle within it’s creamy potato cemetery plot. Although I greatly cherish and appreciate all of my previous encounters, I never usually offer any funeral services for the souls that I save from this frigid place. I do love them all equally, but Rev Shep’s eternally encouraging words are the very compass that guides me to God. Even though it’s just a simple and tasty grave, I’m confident that Sheps appreciates his humble rest. However, I still wish that I could give him so much more than just a touching memorial moment. After all it was he who taught me the true way to find the light, and ultimately Christ, even though I took his message in a somewhat indirect fashion. I don’t think that he followed his own teachings quite as literally as I do. But I will forever love and protect his beautiful soul. Especially once it joins with mine,