Belly of the Beast

Okay I admit there should have been some small red flag raised in the back of my head when I took that first bite. . .

Food is supposed to have some soul to it (even when prepared en-masse) and this poor burger had lost it's soul a long time ago. What was once a meat patty had become something more a kin to leather. (My little brother may like his food turned to charcoal but I prefer mine to still have some hope of moisture in the middle.) The fries were greasy as should be expected of anything deep fried.

I've eaten worse and never felt ill of it. Generally speaking food is one of my many drugs of choice - little did I remember that like all drugs, every now and then you get a bad batch. And although I don't remember the last time I had food poisoning, I really don't want to experience it again.

Deep down I hate being sick, food poisoning or anything else unless violent enough to maintain my focus on the illness or it wipes me out leaving nothing but dreamless sleep. For without that I'm left in front of a cursed door to the what might have been in the repository of amnesia past experiences.

Just a fact of life that when there is nothing to do but sit there and heal that the mind will wander. If I'm lucky I get really good dreams, hell even a nightmare or two is at times more preferable, mainly to the simple fact that dwelling on the past has yet to change my future.

And even if I could go back, what are the odds I'd screw it up again? Kind of like that poor cook and that hamburger with fries. . .