A QUANDARY

I am in a quandary. In my stomach there is a howling cave monster, slowly feasting on the fleshy red tubes of my insides. It growls, it bites, it gnaws. Occasionally it will fall asleep, lulling me into a false sense of security, only to awake again at an awkward moment and resume it’s wicked consumption.

There is a Special K breakfast bar in my bag, dimly sweet and designed entirely to distract the monster. It is encased in a shiny yet understated white wrapper, and seems to sing softly from the second zipper of my backpack.

I feel a great urge to simply stop typing, lean over to my side, and send my fingers stumbling in search of the bar. I imagine myself unwrapping it with the care and attention of a sensual lover, eating it slowly with soft and gentle bites. I want to lean over and get it, I want to devour it right now.

But I don’t.

Because, in the corner of the room - wearing national health spectacles - is a fearsome troll. She has fourteen eyes on her slimy green head, sharp teeth, and cellulite. She is nine foot tall, overweight, and has dyed her hair slightly purple in that way that has somehow become fashionable. Her many eyes scan the room frequently, and she emits a low and putrid growl whenever she sees anything that displeases her – like a boy with a monster in his stomach eating a reasonably priced breakfast bar, for instance. For now, the room is silent except for the faint rattling of keyboards - but safety rarely stays the night.

After a long and agonising consideration, I decide to leave it be.

The monster in my stomach consumes me entirely from the inside out, until I am no more than a puddle of skin.