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Creepy! Her hands took an instinctive step back: fingers to palms, elbows to sides, the motion sucking at the air between them. Haha, gross
. Ew, fuck, look
! It was all smooth and shit! Her hands were up and away, coincidentally in imitation of surrender, but better if nobody’s fooled by that crap--this was Avi, and she was grossed out, but there’s only so much disgust you can claim when you’ve at least once eaten mold. At least
Skinny Android Girl (alt: The Sampler, The Nanny, The Taste Test…) flicked a few times and then she was gone
, just gone! All that was left was her shape as smooth as a button. It reminded Avigail of collecting roly poly bugs from the soft, upturned bark of the red cedar that grew in the backyard of the old house. It reminded her of the crawlspace infestation the summer before they moved. She’d never meant to scare the bugs, or hurt the bugs--it was just something two kids did when they were bored, motherless, and touch meant nothing to them anymore. By the time Debbie’s face curled back open Avi was already gone
--just gone!--hissing along to the sizzling blister of expired food sludge boiling over onto the burner. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.
She lifted the saucepan up in the air and fanned the smoke that was worming up from the top of the overused, overcaked, burn-encrusted stove. Hot, brown muck
(gravy?) dripped from the lip and onto the floor. She clanged the pot down on the free, unheated burner, wiggling and scraping it in circles--like wiping its feet on the coils. Assuming it was edible, she bet it was done now. She cooly eyed the free spoon that rested in the middle of the table, closer to Debbie, just concocting how to get it.
She gripped the handle of the mystery sauce pan almost defensively, and stamped her foot decisively
on the floor. Babysitter? Fuck that. She was hungry now
(stamp). This was her
Besides, she was pretty sure she’d eaten worse things before (she… absolutely
had). She had an iron stomach (was she born with it, or was it CLONED), or she just didn’t care. But she was a destination shopper. She’d come to this ugly kitchen for food-- or the closest thing to it.