The Meatfields: Chapter Eight: The Meatfields, Chapter 4

The Meatfields , Chapter Four
And so it finally happened: I managed to sneak out of the 2nd years' bunker and rendezvous with Julia on the walls above the compound and the fields at midnight. She had promised me something special, and I knew without knowing what it was, only I suppressed thinking about it so that seeing it might be as fresh and new and spontaneous and real as possible.
She was there, in the shadows, hunched over a small bundle of cloth, her head darting this way and that like an animal guarding it's food. I dropped down by her side, out of breath.
"You've got one don't you? You've got one?" I could hardly contain my glee. "How did you get it? Can I see it?"
She looked at me and smiled. Placing one finger over her lips. "Shhh. Be patient. I've got it. A 5th year gave it to me. I'm not going to tell you what I had to do to get it, so don't ever ask. Now be silent."
Slowly she began to peel away layers of cloth, white with rusty stains, old harvester's rags. And there it was. About the size of a child's fist, brown with tapered ends and a gentle curving contour: a Meatstalk Seed. I reached my hand out to touch it, Julia didn't move. I hesitated.
"It's okay, touch it- it's warm." She said, her tone of voice solemn.
I did: it was firm. I could tell that it was hard on the outside but tender on the inside. I was dizzy with ecstasy.
Julia sighed. "Okay, here goes." She placed her thumbs in the center of the flattest part of the seed, placing her fingertips gently on the opposite side, like she was going to open a very delicate and tiny book. She jerked, and the force of her effort sunk her thumbs deep into the seed's meat. A hot spurt of Meatstalk Juice exploded onto our faces. She ripped it open deliberately and without delay, and we could see it there, plain as day, beating away while it's own blood gushed out and onto the floor: a tiny heart, pale in the night air. It very slowly ceased beating and with a quiver was silent. Neither of us were breathing. Then Julia screamed. I fell backwards and clasped my hands over my ears as her scream ripped through the silence of the night.
My last memory of her is of her there on her knees, a dead Meatstalk heart in her hands, screaming and screaming, her lungs expanding and contracting behind her ribs, trying to catch their own breath.