in between feedings, from a far-off fold deep in the valleys of my intestines, comes the plangent vibration of a bell. the ringing is never loud but it is persistent, and spreads to my head faster than a shudder. i miss my freedom.
from resonance to shudder, from shudder to ooze. a big ooze. a big, delicious ooze. coat-your-throat ooze. black in color, like the Black Pudding which was the most difficult enemy in the board game Dungeon. you had to roll a ::: ::: to beat the Black Pudding, even if you were a Wizard. the other difficult enemies were the Blue Dragon (roll an eleven to beat), and the Red Dragon (roll a twelve to beat). somewhere in the game designer’s memories was a childhood torment, sitting in front of a plate of blood sausage, forced to remain seated at the table until it was all eaten. but let us return to the ooze. the punishment ooze. i can only think of satiety. beyond the point of satisfaction, lick by lick on the skin of guilt. mmmmm.
i wanted to be extraordinary, not sick.