Peter

He knew pretty much straight away that fully removing Peter's head had been a mistake. Knowing there was no point in trying to put it back on however, he immediately set about trying to make amends. 

 

First he invested in some embalming fluid, and set to work. After having disposed of the body, of course, which was a bit of a bind, although he managed it successfully with some old, broken-up concrete slabs that he just happened to have in his garden from the previous house-owner, a few bin-liners, and a two-in-the-morning trip to the big reservoir about forty minutes north.

 

The embalming fluid stank ruddy awful. To be fair, this was his first encounter with formaldehyde, but it was sufficient enough to turn his stomach to such an extent that he knew a future position in a career of the funereal kind was unlikely. 

 

He also invested in a decent plinth, with a glass casing that, when sealed, would be fully airtight. He really wanted to get that Lenin's Mausoleum vibe going, and figured this would be a great way to go about it. 

 

After assembling said plinth, he went for a shower and pondered his next move. As he worked a glob of shower gel through the confusion of meats that formed his anal duct, he started to think about decorations and trinkets with which to accompany the severed noggin. This line of thought continued to accompany him as he dried off in a recently washed and pleasingly fluffy towel and, once dressed again, he erected his noisy aluminium stepladder on the landing, and inserted himself upwards into the loft.

 

There he located the box of toys from his childhood. He rummaged through, carefully putting to one side his red plastic handheld picture viewer and accompanying discs, and eventually landed on what he was after. His Star Wars figures, all piled higgledy-piggledy in a smaller box within the larger one. Luke Skywalker with his extendable light-sabre. Bib Fortuna with his impressive, all-encompassing horn. R2-D2, looking a bit small and inadequate with his stickers peeling off. But no, none of those would do. It had to be C3-PO, and it had to be the dismantled version of him that Chewbacca rescued from the conveyor belt on Bespin in The Empire Strikes Back. In the box, he was fully assembled, of course. But the plan was to dismember him, and then place the gleaming gold body parts around Peter's head, almost in tribute, or something. 

 

Once back at the head and the unsealed showcase that was to become its home, he carefully and delicately pulled the miniature droid apart and placed all its bits around it. He also took time to carefully layer cotton wool beneath the head (so much heavier than he'd expected!) and then cover the top of the plinth entirely, as a sort of snowscape to represent Hoth, or as a Christmas scene. He couldn't decide, so he decided not to decide. He also sprinkled a few bits of breakfast cereal here and there; a few Rice Krispies, some Cheerios. Nice. It was all looking the part. 

 

With care, he put the glass case in place (so much heavier than he'd expected!) and, once sealed, he took a step back to admire his work. He didn't want to boast or brag, and there was no-one available apart from the dead head to boast or brag to anyhow, but he thought he'd done a really decent job of it. He was pretty sure Peter would have been pleased at how he'd been presented, even if his head did now permanently lie at a slightly odd angle. But then he'd had to chop his head off in haste, so it wasn't his most precise cut. A bit slap-dash in its execution, but still fairly impressive now that it sat in situ atop the plinth. 

 

Later, he sat in his favourite armchair, opposite from where he'd placed his creation, so that he could really take it in and enjoy it. Without removing his gaze from Peter's, he reached for his freshly-made chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle, and forked a good serving into his mouth. He had to slurp it loudly in through his lips to avoid the juices from his noodles dripping onto the crotch of his trousers, but it tasted damn good. Really good, especially tonight of all nights. This was it. This was his utopia. He'd finally got Peter just where he wanted him, and where he could really enjoy him. He settled into his seat, and just as he was getting comfy, he thought about maybe getting a slice of bread and butter. 

Picture from Wikimedia Commons.