tiny sketch no. 10

28 July 2009

The cold, pale, meat pie's smell instantly made the dinner guest's hair stand on end. Their eyes watered and nostrils flared, but absolute politeness continued. They picked up their forks and with wavering smiles took a bite. IT must have been still alive. Did IT quiver when eaten, or was that just the guest's shaking hands forcing it into their slightly down turned mouths? The only explanation for IT's foulness was that IT came from the bog.