This is a story about extremely strange eating habits and basically every character you meet is gratuitously cringe worthy. The main character is NOT me, so don't freak out or anything. ~yay~ ~enjoy~
I’m on my toes reaching for a box of pop tarts on the top shelf of my kitchen cupboard. If I stretch a little farther, the very berry-honey bunny goodness will be mine.
My back makes a bit of a cracking sound and a sharp pain shoots up and down the arch. I grimace. I may even be sweating. My head is throbbing and—OH! IF I CAN JUST FLICK THE BOX…
It tumbles out and hits the ground.
My hand shakes as I slide the beautiful icing-covered chunk of heaven out of its silver Mylar wrapping. The lettering on the label is green to remind us that it’s organic. All two hundred and ten empty calories of sugar and starch and saturated fat are—wait for it—naturally derived.
I violently shove the pastry in my mouth. I love the raunchy feeling of something hard and scratchy being lodged in my throat. It hurts so good. I wince when I swallow the mouthful of warm, half-chewed sludge.