“You can talk?!” she gasped, setting her diary down gently. “Of course,” it replied. “I’m just shy.”
The photo on the website didn’t show the many steps leading down to the cabin. With trepidation I began my descent, aging yet adventurous.
Amy felt them wiggle; ripping at her insides. Doctors examined, but found nothing. With her knife, she began digging them out herself.
Enjoy the ears. Nibble on the nose. Snack on the stomach. Feast on the feet. How to consume a chocolate creature.
It’s secret research but they never let on – not until weird plants began sprouting in all our gardens. Now they want to talk.
The ozone layer gravely depleted, they hide behind blackout curtains. Pale victims of a blitz they engineered themselves, they weep too late.