Tastes Like Pure Innocence

There was a small boy.

He was as innocent as a new born baby. His wide, blue eyes complemented his shirt’s cheerful attitude. He had the perfect complexion. You could truly say that his face was that of a very young child. Looking at him, you could conclude that he was a naive soul waiting to discover. His arms were small and plump as an infant’s would be. He was a tender child with joyful feelings. He was not perfect. However, It may have seemed as though he could do anything his heart desired; The boy was born partially blind.

One night, thick smoke enclosed this child’s room.

The child awakened and directed himself towards the room to find an exit. He found it hard to breathe. As he rushed towards the murkiness of his room, he stumbled over an old toy and collapses. As the child drew near the floor, his lip catches the blunt edge an object lying on the ground. He slammed his mouth onto a corner of a metal Jack-In-The-Box toy. The child let out a high pitched squeal. He had created a gaping cut into his lip and chipped a tooth. The blood trickled down his chin. His lip was partially ripped. The boy draged himself up and touched his mouth. He felt the numbness consuming his face as the pain lingered through. The boy was in need of help. He swallowed his tears and gained enough courage to get up and seek help. He began to the walls hoping for an exit.

A door’s creak is heard across the deep abyss of his room. Helooks towards it. The space from the door’s opening let out a small illuminating light. He made his way towards the door only to find that the door led to a small closeted room. With every step he took, the smoke led him toward disorientation.

The smell of the smoke grew stronger.

The child temperature began to rise and the boy began to feel his little throat enclose. He gasped for breath. He felt his skin grow soft to the point of fragility. He began to scratch at his arm and finds it as delicate as wet paper. Bits and pieces of bloody flesh easily tear off, leaving his arm in a horrifyingly grotesque manner. The

feeling of his flesh being ripped began to stink. The boy screamed in terror.

“Please end…”, he said softly harshly.

Soft tears filled his red face. You could sense the agony in the tone of his voice.

He noticed another door in the closeted room and began to gather what was left of his faltering strength to stand. He scurried towards the doorway and made an attempt to open it without success. The child knocked on the door vigorously. He then looked up and noticed a small amount light making its way through the opening of the curtain on the side of the door.



He looked through the curtain and into the other side of the thick glass, and found his mother and father calmly eating at their dinner table. The smoke didn’t appear through the other side of the door. They were left unaffected to whatever was devouring the child’s body.

“Mommy!”, he hesitantly shouted

His voice was weak.

“Help me mommy!”, The child screamed with all of his might.

“I need you… I need you…”

He slapped the glass, leaving a bloody handprint in its place. He fell on the cold, hard tile and his voice trailed off; becoming nothing but breathless mumbles. A puddle of blood surrounded his corpse and his vision blackened as the smoke consumed his lungs.

A few moments later, his mother got out of her chair. She looked through the opening of the window and smiled. She then began to turned a knob positioned next to the door handle.

As minutes had pass and the smoke grew faint and eventually vanished

“Oh dear, he’s ready!”, the mother cheerfully claimed

“Wonderful, Honey!”, the father replies with a deep, accomplished tone.

“Get the pot ready, and I’ll start slicing the vegetables.”

The father stomped towards the cutting board and the mother unlocked the door. She carried the bloody, rancid corpse to the giant pot and stuffed the dead body of the child inside. She poured boiling water into the pot and turned powered the stove. The crackling of bursting blisters surrounded the kitchen; the smell of cooked flesh began to fill the room. She began to cut through the hard cooked meat and bone to serve her husband’s partially filled. They then set the table and decorative vase that would be filled with his small bones. The playful attitude of the boy was now absent, and what was once his playful, child-like body was now a meal; filled with his blistered skin smothered in thick, greasy steak sauce.

With every bite they took, the child’s spirit could still be heard; screaming and pleading for the pain to end.