Why You're Reading This

In my Writing Fiction class we have to write a little at least every day. Today I found my entry extra amusing, so I thought I would share it with everyone, as I may or may not do with some of my other more interesting ones.



If you're reading this it's because you smell really, really bad.

So bad, in fact, that I shirk at the idea of being anywhere near you. The way your blood flows under your skin makes my stomach churn in disgust. My disdain for your body and general appearance makes my head spin so much that thinking a thought about you makes me dizzy.

I know you showered this morning, or maybe it was yesterday, but I don't care. You're rank. The odor of your shampoo makes me nauseous, the soap you use too powerful for any one nose, assuming you used enough for me to smell it at all.

The point is, reader, you smell so terrible that the thought of eating you, your heart, your face, sounds like the least appetizing buffet one could ever come by. It would be like going to a steakhouse and ordering a salad without dressing.

So, I didn't eat you, and that's why you're reading this. I didn't eat you because I'm not a cannibal, and I'm not a cannibal because you smell bad.