It was pretty cool that your aunt made her own sausages, even cooler that she's letting you help.
She uses an old family recipe handed down through at least five generations.
They were made once per generation and are the best sausages you'll ever taste.
Weird though, whoever made them vanished before they were served.
Apparently that was due to tradition as well, like their ultimate goal had been fulfilled or something?
I never understood, not until my aunt let me help.
I was late to meet her, she was already halfway through.
I'll never forget the smell of raw meat and blood that filled the small kitchen.
As I approached her from behind I noticed how pale her hands were, she was shaking like a leaf.
She wouldn't respond to her name.
I gently tapped her shoulder and she collapsed.
Well, she sort of collapsed... she was left hanging from her waist.
She'd been using her own intestines as sausage casing, squeezing the meat in inch by inch as she
slowly passed away.
I ran away, never spoke about it and pretended that everything was fine.
Makes me wonder... what happens to the rest of the body?
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