breakfast

Most mornings on my way to school I will eat an apple. Crunchy and christmas coloured. Approximately 26 grams of carbohydrate. On a particular Tuesday morning I bite into an exceptionally delicious-looking fruit. It is juicier than I expect. I am devouring this apple because it is so good. I am eating it veryveryveryveryFAST. I am grinding it between my molars. It is rather tasty.

About two thirds of the way into the apple the chewed pieces scatter themselves around my mouth. They have grown little black legs. The stalk is wriggling underneath my tongue. The part of the apple I was still holding - the last third - disintegrates completely and I realise the apple is hundreds of tiny ants. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds. They are trying very furiously to wedge themselves into the gaps between my teeth. Angry ants. They are burrowing into my gums. The stalk-worm is sliding inquiringly down my throat. They are looking for something in my stomach. Something important. They have heard from the whispers of my cilia that the last fruit I ate was particularly good and they are after it.

Without thinking. Out of pure impulse. I reach my hand into my mouth, deep into my belly and force myself to vomit. I throw up the bran and trim milk and banana I had for breakfast all over the footpath. I try to aim for the gutter. I step in some of it by mistake.

When the ants see this they leap out of my mouth and start feeding on my insides. My insides which are now spread all over the ground. They eat for a short while until they feel satisfied...

...and the stalk-worm sinks deeper and deeper into my belly.