My last meal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is not about death in the way the title may portray, and this is also quite small! Very small. Heres a taste of the story-A taste of angry city life was the last thing I expected to get

A taste of angry city life was the last thing I expected to get. It may have been death, or poverty that I thought would be on my cracked china plate agian, but it was not to be. No, I as given a meal of anger, blood, drive bys, closed rusty windows, and small young faces hiding, used to the life they were subjected to. I can't say that I found this meal anymore appitizing than poverites bitter taste, or death cold ashy one. No, I can't say I did. It may just of been an aquired taste, but I do not wish to eat like that agian. It was not that it was hard to swallow, it would, did, go down my throat, but it felt like blades, slicing at my helpless flesh. I coughed up some ketchup, but it reminded me of blood, the blood that was one of the main meals of the cities distasteful, but all to real banquet. It was accompanied by poverties bitter wine, "Woe". And one had to choke down death's rotting fruits, and rancid meats that it chose to bring. With these as my choices for fine dining, I believe I'd rather starve.


Submitted: December 08, 2008

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