To Serve Man

Crawling, creeping out of the soft earth. Spitting out worms. Rubbing dirt from my eyes. Or my eye...or whatever you call this thing hanging from my socket. Anyways, yeah I'm crawling in the dirt.

Death called for me. Came for me.

BUT

I wasn't ready. Angels? White light? Peace and harmony?

Overrated.

My hunger for life was too strong. I spit out ambrosia and jumped back into the grave. I thirsted for the muck of this world and this world only.

So I grasped.

And I clawed.

And I pulled myself up.

And up

And up.

Out of the casket. Past the graveyard. Through the woods. Over the hill. Down the road.

Leaving little bits and pieces of me along the the way. That's not a metaphor.

Until I saw the bright lights that not even Heaven can match and a smell not even Hell's sulphur could mask.

Most of my left leg had fallen off a mile ago but I could still locomote like a 3-legged redheaded stepchild. An Igor of desire.

And finally, like redemption, I arrived.

The beauty of the simple building before me blurred my good eye with what once had been tears. If I still had a tongue it would be salivating.

My good fortune continued as the automatic doors burst open with the fanfare of seven trumpets.

I crawled triumphantly to the cashier.

She screamed.

I screamed back. A low, primal voice long buried and no longer human escaped.

"GIVE ME A BIG MAAAAAAAAAAAAC!"