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About Me:18-year-old sixth form student, studying English Literature, History and Government and Politics. My articles will broadly cover topics from the current affairs of politics to reviews of books and albums, as well as adding my own creative pieces, whether it be short fiction or general opinion.
But then he grew restless. He began to fiercely bite down on each block, and, growing tired with solitary chunks, decided to try two at a time, constantly licking his lips and getting melted chocolate around the periphery of his mouth like a child. When he was finished, and dry patches of brown clung to his fingers, he discarded the red foil next to a nearby flowerbed and pulled out the packet of sweets.
His vision fixed on the array of colours and shapes before him: everything varied and bright, different and new. He began discriminately, picking only the sweets he recognised – red pencils, chewy eggs, raspberry bon bons – but he soon became tired of such familiarity. He plucked out an unknown, perfectly shaped sugared cube and mused over its rigidness- its sharp, straight edges - and a heaviness stirred inside of him. Nevertheless, he placed the sweet in his mouth. Upon the first bite his face distorted into a paroxysm of disgust and he convulsively spat out it out, for, to him at least, the unknown cube tasted of soap. With cold hands he searched for its counterpart - a looseness, a squidginess, anything that wasn’t so angled, so undeviating, to rid the unsavoury taste. His fingers rummaged around the sweets until – finally – they felt the soft tissue of a green gummy snake. He raised the snake high out of the packet and dropped it into his mouth. As one would laugh at a private joke with a close friend, so did the man upon the realisation that this gummy snake was flavoured with apple. He picked out the remaining snakes and shoved them into his mouth, filling his capacity until the tails wriggled out of his lips. A change slowly overcame him. He no longer cared. Not for shape or taste or smell, none of that mattered anymore, nothing at all. Thus, with newfound voracity, he emptied the contents of the bag into his mouth and began chomping down.
Such was his entrancement in his own chewing that the man failed to recognise the variable beauty of the scene around him. Oscillating languidly between colours, the sky would assume the form of a slow-burning, cackling fire, and then, in the next instance, the azure serenity of a still ocean. The trees were also subject to volatility: shedding all and becoming bare then sprouting into full blossom; nestling eggs; ornamented with icicles; standing solitarily and then accompanied by long shadows. Indeed, the man cemented on the bench was blind to all of this. Blind, too, to the flock of birds that were flying, silhouetted, in graceful concordance above his head. But a joy had risen, had spread within him, and was spurting out of him with every gobble. It was also undeniably evident that a luminescence had glossed his face throughout this gobbling. Impossible was it to say just how much time had elapsed whilst he had been chewing, but what was for certain was that his zeal had not escaped him. Indeed, he was chewing just as fervently as when he had first started, but now his jaw began to tire and spasmodically jolt this way and that, like a flame precariously close to dousing. He then looked up and saw that the sky had regressed into a peculiar purple-black, seeping a chill into his blood - forcing him to swallow the amassed bolus.
The man rose from the bench as if from a dream, rubbing his eyes and stretching out his limbs. He lumbered out of the field and began to walk to the now imperceptible road, squinting for a means of direction. Out of the corner his eye a faint orange-red glow was faintly pulsating, and, compelled somewhat, he began staggering towards it - towards the illumined end of the road.
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