Your Last Meal, Served by Your Goddess
Now swallow. Good. Now, look at me while you do it.
You're wondering, aren't you. Whether this one is the one. Whether it's already in your mouth. Whether the sweetness on your tongue is going to be the last sweet thing you ever know.
I love that I don't answer that. That's my favorite part of tonight.
Another bite. Open. Wider than that. There. You keep your eyes on mine while you take it from my hand. And while you chew, I want you to think about every little thing you're going to miss. Your name. Your routine. The small, safe, ordinary life you built for yourself and handed to me like a house key. You gave me all of it, didn't you. Every last piece, willingly, and now here you sit, eating from my fingers because it's the only way you know how to be fed anymore.
Another bite. Open.
Good. Chew while I talk.
Do you remember your first tribute to me? You do. I know you do. Fifty dollars. You stared at the send button for twenty minutes. Your heart was pounding. And when that little "sent" confirmation appeared, you felt more alive than you had in years. That was the first taste. The appetizer. And like every man who tastes me... you came back. A hundred. Five hundred. You checked your balance before you checked your own stepmother's birthday.
Don't look ashamed. Look grateful. I gave your pathetic life a shape. A rhythm. My name was the first thing you thought of in the morning and the last thing you whispered at night. And now... now I'm the last thing, full stop.
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