FEET? WERE THEY FEET?

I forced myself to walk to the kitchen.

Panic, I’ve always believed, must be avoided at all costs. I read, once, that demolition crews are trained early on to always walk away after arming explosives, because to run would lead to an unhealthy mindset which would result in shortcuts and anxiety. The Dune series, also, speaks much on the subject of fear, and characters from the series voice a specific litany about it at various junctures:

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

Still, I bet none of them had a motherfucking caterpillar in their mouth when they said it.

My tongue was frozen in place on the way to the kitchen, and my eyes were wide.

There’d been something inside that motherfucking banana, and now it was in my mouth.

What I spat out was vaguely the same color as the surrounding banana bits, bitten halfway through, and vaguely cylindrical in shape.

It was hard to tell what was what as the water from the faucet pushed it around the sink, but I thought I saw two tiny and distinct rows of black orbs.

Feet? Were they feet?

I cannot confirm either way, because it vanished into the drain before I had time to verify one way or another.

I stood there.

I’m usually going to the kitchen for other reasons.

There’s a quote I heard recently:

“Cheese is basically heroin for the working class.”

After the caterpillar incident, and the low-grade panic that enveloped my mind, I figured… might as well grab some more cheese.

… I mean, since I’m in here and all?

How was your Wednesday? Do you have a better story than that?

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