I noticed something, the way the fat was rendering, the meat, dripping. A new supplier perhaps.
This fire will burn up the sinew Render the fat. Like a candle.
These ingredients are not coming together in the usual way. Chefs away, no one to ask Something special in the flesh But what is this? Everything is going to pot Its my job to save the feast from ruining Am I the only one here?
I was just thinking If you find yourself bullied Is it an attempt to make you ... more like them?
“Service”
The meat tastes different some how Richer, more luxurious Something is wrong We have been tricked by our supplier We all ate the flesh of humanity Some, the loin, others the leg, some drank deep on the rich, fatty gravy. We all realise together in silence This is not the lamb
A trance of fear and digestive fatigue plagues the whole collective. … a variety of reactions. The words of truth, fear, is the mind killer emerge. They are subconscious. But this is the correct fear. A rare treat.
Then the wisdom hits. Chief, among us, suggests it, and the instinct is wise enough to be agreed, all at once. A silent communion.
Our disgust at having been tricked can be un done in an instant. We will cleanse our pallets through our enjoyment of the foods we love best. We raid the pantry for the finest wine, the sweetest meats. All of our richest, most treasured ingredients.
A gumbo, we indulge in defiance. The real feast is not in the preparation or the eating, but in the opposition. We eat this meal in defiance against the trick that was played on us.
The cannibal wanted us to join it. But that was never in our nature, that portion of hell is for you alone. Unless you dine with us, our new gluttony, is your salvation.
Artwork generated in Satble defusion 2.1 on Hugging Face
#Spacehaul 