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Tastes Like Pure Innocence

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There was once a small boy.

He was as innocent as a newborn baby. His wide, blue eyes complemented his shirt’s cheerful attitude. He had the perfect complexion. You could truly say that his face was that of a very young child. Looking at him, you could conclude that he was a naive soul waiting to discover. His arms were small and plump as an infant’s would be. He was a tender child with joyful feelings. He was not perfect. However, it may have seemed as though he could do anything his heart desired; the boy was born partially blind. One night, thick smoke enclosed this child’s room.

The child awakened and directed himself towards the room to find an exit. He found it hard to breathe. As he rushed towards the murkiness of his room, he stumbled over an old toy and collapsed. As the child drew near the floor, his lip caught the blunt edge an object lying on the ground. He slammed his mouth onto a corner of a metal Jack-In-The-Box toy. The child let out a high pitched squeal. He had created a gaping cut into his lip and chipped a tooth. The blood trickled down his chin. His lip was partially ripped. The boy dragged himself up and touched his mouth. He felt the numbness consuming his face as the pain lingered. The boy was in need of help. He swallowed his tears and gained enough courage to get up and seek help. He began to search the walls, hoping to find an exit.

A door’s creak is heard across the deep abyss of his room. He looks towards it. The space from the door’s opening let out a small illuminating light. He made his way towards the door only to find that the door led to a small, closet-like room. With every step he took, the smoke led him further into disorientation.

The smell of the smoke grew stronger.

The child’s temperature began to rise and the boy began to feel his little throat seize. He gasped for breath. He felt his skin grow soft to the point of frailty. He began to scratch at his arm and finds it as delicate as wet paper. Bits and pieces of bloody flesh easily tore off, leaving his arm in a horrifyingly grotesque manner. The feeling of his flesh being ripped began to sting. The boy screamed in terror.

“Please end…” his soft voice gained a harsh sound due to his pain.

Soft tears filled his red face. You could sense the agony in the tone of his voice.

He noticed another door in the closeted room and began to gather what was left of his faltering strength to stand. He scurried towards the doorway and made an attempt to open it without success. The child knocked on the door vigorously. He then looked up and noticed a small amount of light making its way through the opening of the curtain on the side of the door.

Scared child

He looked through the curtain and into the other side of the thick glass, and found his mother and father calmly eating at their dinner table. The smoke didn’t appear through the other side of the door. They were left unaffected to whatever was devouring the child’s body.

“Mommy!” he hesitantly shouted. His voice was weak. “Help me, Mommy!”

The child screamed with all of his might.

“I need you… I need you…” the boy murmured desperately.

He slapped the glass, leaving a bloody handprint in its place. He fell on the cold, hard tile and his voice trailed off; becoming nothing but breathless mumbles. A puddle of blood surrounded his corpse and his vision blackened as the smoke filled his lungs.

A few moments later, his mother got out of her chair. She looked through the opening of the window and smiled. She then began to turn the knob positioned next to the door handle.

As minutes had passed, the smoke grew faint and eventually vanished.

“Oh dear, he’s ready!” the mother cheerfully exclaimed.

“Wonderful, honey!” the father replied with a deep, accomplished tone.

“Get the pot ready, and I’ll start slicing the vegetables.”

The father stomped towards the cutting board and the mother unlocked the door. She carried the bloody, rancid corpse to the giant pot and stuffed the dead body of the child inside. She poured boiling water into the pot and turned on the stove. The crackling of bursting blisters surrounded the kitchen and the smell of cooked flesh began to fill the room. She began to cut through the hard cooked meat and bone to serve her husband his dinner. They then set the table with a decorative vase that would be filled with his small bones. The playful attitude of the boy was now absent, and what was once his playful young body was now a meal. His blistered and charred skin was smothered in thick, greasy steak sauce.

With every bite they took, the child’s spirit could still be heard; screaming and pleading for the pain to end.

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