January 20, 2016

“There I was in the dining room, all the unhappiness of the house piled upon a plate set out in front of me. Mother and father would not stop screaming for me to eat. But the meat squished when I touched. It leaked onto the plate, onto me. I felt very cold. When I looked down at myself, I recognized nothing. This lap was not mine. Those knees were not mine. My hands were not my own. That godforsaken meat covered everything. The meat was half-rotten. I could smell how the meat had turned.”

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