It is rather spacious in here. Like, the space, there’s tons of it. I know I’m only a little fella, but this beats sharing a room with that meathead who hits me but pretends it’s me hitting myself but it’s definitely not.

I’ll put up my posters and bring my toys and no one will tell me when I have to go to bed or clean up or take out the garbage.

This is the life, alright. I am getting a tad hungry though. I should have had a last supper before I climbed inside.

I can’t seem to get out either, not even for a minute, even if I wanted to. Who would make a door that can’t open from the inside? I hear a noise from outside, but it turns out to just be an Airplane!

No matter, I’ll be fine, even as the air gets thinner and my head gets lighter.

A bite or two wouldn’t go astray. I’m not asking for a burger or anything, just a few peanuts or something.

A burger, though, that would be the tits.

Starvin’ now.

I’d scarf down just about anything – a pig’s snout, a lettuce’s head, a mesquite’s toe. None to be found though.

Node out, severe hunger is afoot.

A foot. My goodness, my gracious, I sees one of them. I mean, it serves a decent purpose as it is, but I got a backup. Certainly I could afford to sacrifice the extra one for my immediate needs. Mom gave her extra kidney to her sister and everyone calls her a hero.

How would I even begin? I’ll twist myself around a bit and see if that helps. Flexibility is one of my strong suits, and I’ve got it in spades.

Alright, foot in front of mouth, the feeding begins. I’m chomping at the bit of my toe, and there is no pain. Numbness is real when you’re squat to the gills. Now that the roominess has evaporated and the walls have closed in and the hunger has grown and the mind has wandered, the mouth devours each of the marketable digits before engulfing the rest of the foot.

Blood is everywhere.

I’m sated at last, and the door – well the door is open, but no one is outside.

October 18 – Jean-Claude Van Damme gets a boy trapped in a refrigerator who eats his own foot
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