A Taste For Sore Eyes - SCP Foundation

⚠️ content warning

There was an unbearable craving in my stomach.

I sat dormant on the living room couch, my eyes fixated on the cracked television screen as I shifted through channels eight to eleven. Clips bled together like fresh paint on a wall, coming off as static to my ears. The ceiling fan swayed gently in the breeze, the fluorescent light hummed a jarring melody, and I could sense a dry taste in the air. With this hollow feeling keeping me company, it felt like your typical Friday night.

"Hungry…"

A layer of saliva coated the walls of my mouth, dripping down my chin as I felt a sharp ache in my gut. Oh, what familiarity, this yearning for the taste of cheap fast food. My lungs danced around, begging for its alluring aroma. These hands wanted to shower in the grease seeping from their orifices. I could bear it no longer, unable to relish in the delicacy of such fine china. I must have a bite. I must consume.

Though, I wonder about the last time I ate a proper meal. The kitchen is a breeding ground for a dust bunny colony, preparing for its eventual dominance over the rest of this post-apocalyptic space I called an apartment room. I found it odd knowing how I used to thrive behind the counter, preparing myself the pinnacle of meals without fault. Chefs worldwide would feed on their hearts, knowing how well I held a knife. But nowadays, my body lost its motivation to move and to be productive.

I used to go outside. Now, I fear the sun pouring in every morning.

However, I shouldn't stray from getting something to eat, so I reached for my stained phone atop a bed of books and magazines. Cold to the touch but colder when greeting, it sprayed my eye with a bright light. Tedious, to say the least.

Lately, I've gotten addicted to this one delivery service. With a few clicks and some bucks to spare, a fresh pizza appears on your doorstep. My tongue yearned to wrap around the brittle crust, the melting cheese, and especially the sauce. How I wanted to bathe in the fondness of the savory sauce, I caught myself gripping my chest once again. Calm down, and hurry on with your order.

As I went online, my eyes hovered over the stacks of pizza boxes scattered across the floor. I reminisced on how I drained the sustenance of their soaking fragrance, their life masticated by my teeth. The viscous liquid began to rise above the levels of my mouth once more. I gulped.

There was nothing like a hearty Margherita to satiate my overwhelming hunger. Leaving another fingerprint on the screen, I proceeded to checkout, throwing away paper in the wind to replenish myself. I could see it: A lowly meal crying tears of oil to quench the thirst of an unhealthy obsession. My eyes widened as I sensed a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. With such agony, I longed for freedom from it. It left me without a breath to breathe.

Before I suffered any longer, however, I could hear a fleeting doorbell interrupting the sore silence. I quickly leapt off my seat and rushed to the entrance, my legs scraping against the wooden floor. I desperately threw myself toward the handle and grasped it without falling to the ground. As I struggled to stand, I unlocked the door and swung it open to see the light of my life before me.

Without wasting another moment, I ushered my dear inside and swept everything off the table, making room for another night of satisfaction. As the mouthwatering creature rested upon its deathbed, I took a moment to enjoy its perfume. I could sense the love and care coating every slice, glistening under the lamp like a shooting star. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I decided to dig in right then and there.

Bless the lords for this meal. I took a slice and ravished it with my teeth, chewing away its skin and letting it writhe before swallowing, shoving the mass down my throat. Shutting my eyes, I prepared myself for the burning sensation, waiting for all the flavors to envelop me like a cocoon. I remained still for a minute, then another, and another.

But, despite how long I strained to take in this gift, my chest still felt hollow, pleading for an exit from this shivering emptiness.

The cheese tasted blander than usual, and the crust tainted my tongue like sandpaper. Not even the sauce was enough to plough through my dismay. What an excuse for a pizza, leaving my throat barren and dry like a desert. It was as if I'd eaten a mouthful of chalk.

Disappointing. Just disappointing. It breaks my heart.

I wanted the food to wash over me with euphoria. Instead, I found myself dissatisfied with how parched it left me, causing my taste buds to shudder and the ends of my lips to weigh down. All sorts of mixed emotions cascaded through my mind — none being positive. I tossed the pizza aside and groaned as I fell back on my couch.

There I fixated on the ceiling fan as it swiftly spun, my brain filled to the brim with thoughts of confusion, shock, and bitterness. What have I done to deserve such dissatisfaction? Have I grown too used to the taste? What was even the point anymore? Questions, many questions, yet no answer arrived. I was taught not to waste food, no matter how below-average its quality was, but I struggled to take another bite. I almost returned to the website to complain but stopped.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection on the phone screen. I stared at myself, stared at every little detail before settling on my eyes — my pleasant and moist eyes. Just then, a thought struck my head.

I had an idea.

Turning to the kitchen beside me, I got off my seat and staggered across the floor, pulling myself closer to the entrance. Each step made the wooden boards creak in response. Bursting through the door, I scanned the untouched territory standing still as the air melted down my throat.

My feet shivered from the touch of the tiled floor, which shot a cold stream up my body. Regardless, I dragged myself toward the goal in front of me, resting neatly on the counter. I could hear it calling to me, the sound of a desperate knife left in an isolated cage. I felt the world around me shifting elsewhere as I reached for its grasp. My vision grew blurry, my heartbeat pierced my ears, and my breath weighed me down. It was like my body took every opportunity to slow me for whatever reason, begging me to stop. Despite this, I persisted and took the chance.

Nostalgic, the feeling of holding this knife. It warmed from my touch.

Then — as I glared at my sunken expression on its sheen, my mouth stained with cheese and sauce — I focused on my glistening eyes. The pizza was so dry I would perish from dehydration if I took another bite. Staring at myself made me realize I needed something to compliment it, something more than even the sauce to bring the flavor to its absolute potential. The feeling of lukewarm food tainting my stomach left it upset. My eyes shined under the flickering lamp above me. I hesitated for a second when pointing the blade toward myself, but then I figured:

This pizza could use some toppings.

…

…

…

Never before have I tasted anything more delicious in my life.

An added taste to the mix brought this pizza's flavour to its limits and beyond. Angelic tears and golden light coated my tongue in a bright hue. The sauce — now coupled with my homemade toppings — seeped down my throat, loosening and finally releasing me from these stressful chains that kept me trapped. I could breathe with ease once more, even cleaner than before. The world had never felt so fresh in my nights alone. All thanks to my cooking skills.

Honestly, who wouldʼve thought? My mastery of the culinary arts remained despite so many long and lonely evenings. Chefs worldwide would feed on their eyes, knowing how well I held a knife. At last, I was satisfied.

Five out of five stars. I never knew how delectable a pepperoni pizza was before now.

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