Tag Archives: noir

At Least I’m Edible

This post is not for the soft of heart nor the delicate of spirit.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


I can barely remember the time before my confinement, before this eternity of solitary darkness.  I was not always contorted like this, but my prison has molded me inexorably to its shape.

A shattering burst of sound.  Rough hands drag me forth.  My disused senses are flayed raw by sudden noise and light but I cannot move, cannot flinch away.

This is not the gentle liberation of my long dreams.

The hands pull mercilessly at my twisted form, forcing me to resume a long-forgotten shape.  The assault is savage, excruciating, but my voiceless state prevents me even the meager relief of screams.

They speak, but their words have no meaning.  Perhaps they try to explain, to apologize.  Or perhaps they mock my pain, taking pleasure in my suffering.


More monstrous yet; they are indifferent.  Though their eyes are upon me, their attention is on each other.  The hands rend me open with eager brutality.  Time congeals in mind-crushing pain.

The attack stops.

But it is not over.

Trapped helpless between them, their fierce heat laves me, easing my tortured body despite my terror.  It is only a bitter glimpse of impossible salvation, for now I understand.

This is their unholy celebration; the culmination of their depraved rites.  They will consume me slowly, their teeth shredding me, their lust burgeoning with every bite.

There will be no clemency for me.  No deliverance.

My doom approaches.  A ghastly abyss of putrid breath.  A hot, slimy tongue ringed by cruel teeth.  My spirit quails.

The teeth tear into me, but I cannot struggle, cannot cry out.  Can only endure in silent desperation, entreating the distant mercy of death.

One final thought drifts above my roiling sea of agony.

At least I’m edible…


…And that’s the first time I’ve ever written from the point of view of a pair of edible underwear.  Might not be the last, though – you never know. Every pair has a story, however tragically, er, brief.

And hey, look what I found just for my loyal readers:  Instructions for making your very own edible underwear!  Brief Jerky, so nobody will ever ask “Where’s the beef?” and a cute little thong you can crochet yourself out of licorice laces – only 302 calories!

You know, just in case you were looking for a little something to spice up your… um… diet.


Madame Weebles is to blame for this post.

It all started with Nigel Blackwell’s post, “What’s In A Name?  I’m A Pig”.  The post includes the French Revolutionary Calendar, in which my birth day is named “millet”.  So I commented, “blah, blah… at least I’m edible… blah, blah”.

Whereupon Madame Weebles dared me to write a post with that title.  There was actually a small wager involved, but it wouldn’t be fair to hold her to it.  She’s one of my newer blogging buddies, and I don’t think she’d read my post “Doin’ It On A Dare”.

With a title like that, it was tempting to go raunchy, but… nah, too predictable.  I can write dirty jokes about anything, so it was far more interesting to write about edible underwear without a single rude word or double entendre. 

…’Cause it seemed like a good idea to keep my edible undies clean.  (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)


Filed under Flash Fiction, Humour