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My Milk

The curdled Milk felt like clay against my teeth and I’m looking for a drink, but I know that isn’t possible. No liquid can quench this thirst.

It was around this time last year that I remember this happening. Only the clay had a different taste to it. It was bitter. I was still the most horrible taste imaginable.

I’m not sure of what to think of this situation right now, or even later. What can result from this? Maybe I’ll just wait here. I guess something good can come out of this suffering. That’s what everyone tells me. But, they don’t know about my Milk. I don’t dare tell them.

Not being able to see the Milk is even worse. It’s one thing when you can see it. But, it’s another when you’re only relying one your sense of taste to tell what something is. You imagine the worst. What kind of crap am I eating? I imagine it being some mashed up insect that found its way into my cup from the trash.

Where do I go from here? Is it really over after this? If it came to this because of the weather than it probably isn’t over. I can just imagine what it will be like next year… probably not much better than this year.

I still remember the first time it happened, like it was yesterday. I was relaxing, just minding my own business taking in some good literature. And apparently that wasn’t the only thing I took in. Somehow it burrowed itself into my head without me knowing. Stealth is too weak of a word because I did not know it was there even after it was in me. I don’t even know if I acquired this thing while I was reading or if it infested me at an earlier time and it had been incubating (or as the average ignorant person would say; curdling) for years. It still puzzles me to this day.

I think the most terrifying part about my Milk is that sometimes I cannot taste it at all. It almost seems to vanish. Its stealth capabilities are far more advanced than I thought. Mt teeth have become its domain and my head has become its food. It creates a taste on my lips that drives me insane. My palette is impenetrable by any other food because of this menace. My sense of taste has been destroyed because of this Milk.

Sometimes I’m afraid to try other foods because I’m afraid other people will see my Milk. It’s frightening. Humiliating because I know deep down that no one can see it. And I’m stuck here because the Milk has left me no choice. I often wonder if it really is Milk or if it’s what I’m imagining; the worst. I think I would be happier if it was the worst because you can always remove the insect that slipped into your mouth without you knowing. You can’t remove this.

And so, I come to my conclusion. Until they come up with a cure of Milk, and one that doesn’t destroy my other senses, I sit here and I wait. I wait like a martyr suffering for my beliefs. Only I am suffering for what I hope to be true; the worst.

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Categories: All, Creative Writing
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