I dropped a little oatmeal on the floor earlier. As I close the door of the microwave to reheat the leftovers, my plastic spork is inadvertently knocked onto the dusty tiles. I peer downward through the dim light to find that it has managed to land exactly in the same spot as the previous spill. "This is it", I think. "This is how i am going to die". I retrieve the utensil and my hands shake with fear as I turn the rusted knobs to release a foul, cornsilk fluid from the faucet, and scrub with the sponge to which I had applied soap all too many hours prior. Whispering prayers to every god I could imagine, and hoping with every part of my withered corpus that these decrepit suds could cleanse whatever pathogens might attempt to infiltrate the crumbling walls of my epidermis, I must seem a madman to the various insects, spirits, and rhododendrons which fill the room. The first bite isn't so bad. It tastes delicious, in fact. It is only after the second sporkful that the impending sense of doom raises the hairs of my nape and I must stop consuming my meal. I fall to my knees in front of my empty refrigerator, sobbing quietly. Perhaps I will finally taste pepperoni when I leave this mortal world.
Submitted April 26, 2015 at 01:56PM by RESCUE_TEAM_ALPHA http://ift.tt/1HHqm1n RandomActsOfPizza
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