Boar Skin

This is disgusting. Actually, when I imagined it, I gagged a little. -shiver-

     The sandwich I unwrapped from the Firehouse paper was the picture of toasted perfection. The meat was stacked heartily between the sub style bread and cheese peeked merrily out at me, declaring it's deliciousness with partially melted corners. Olives fell onto the paper and lettuce quickly joined it, both bathed in a honey mustard sauce that I was already salivating over. With delicately gentle movements I picked the sandwich up and gripped it with both hands, ensuring that the contents didn't spill out anymore. With an experienced angle, I bit down and marveled at the perfect crunch of the lettuce. The sweet spice of the honey mustard hit the back of my tongue and the roast beef teased the tip, the combination forcing my eyes to close in near-ecstasy. When I began to chew the olive juices bathed the sides of my taste buds and completed the meat, the lettuce washing away the bitter after taste of the little round things. With my mouth awash in flavor, I ate into half of my sandwich, the rest of the world becoming a white haze to me. When I bit into the halfway mark of my sub and began the slow process of chewing, the repeated explosion of flavor producing the same mind-numbing effects, I bit down on something that could only be described as tough. Like rubber. Instantly the flavors were blown away with panic and the sluggish effect of curiosity. Again I chewed tenderly and found the little piece of rubber, a popping feeling radiating through my teeth. I flinched and sent my tongue to investigate. I ran the tip of my taste buds gently over the questionable item, recoiling violently when a sharp prick sent a shock of pain into my brain. Adrenaline spiked in my blood and my curiosity left to be replaced with fear. I opened my mouth and reached into my cheek, pulling out the little piece of supposed plastic. When I pulled it out far enough to look at, my brain blanked. Between my fingers was a shaving of boar skin, a patch of coarse hair uniformly covering the surface. I yelped and my stomach rebelled. I flung the bit of tough skin away from me, gagging into my hand and my stomach joined the upheaval, throwing up it's sparse contents into the polished Firehouse floor. Employees raced to my side and some woman gagged, her husband putting an arm around her. I pressed my hand to my mouth and stared at the piece of skin on the floor, horrified. The sandwich lay on the table, forgotten. The object of so much enjoyment had been quickly turned into something of horror with a little piece of disgust buried in it's delicious center.

Author's Note

I only used Firehouse because it was the first thing I thought of and not because this happened before, nor do I discourage you from eating there at all. Actually I think Firehouse is way better than Subway and, despite my setting, I will continue to eat there. <3<3<3

Reviews

[Evil Duncan]

A nice little descriptive piece. Was it an experiment in writing rich description? I sometimes try and challenge myself by picking something fairly everyday (like a sandwich) and trying to describe it in the most elaborate and flowery way possible