The grapes were moldy. That made no difference to Evan. It made no difference to any of us for that matter. Moldy grapes, moldy bread, moldy milk, moldy shit -- when you haven't eaten in 3 days anything looks good. I mean, we were going to die anyway, right? The three of us had been kept alive in a single room for weeks now. We didn't know why. We didn't know who had put us there, either. Every three days, like clockwork, some (semi-)edible item would materialize. And no matter what it was we would devour it. (Well, except for the incident with Mike... We weren't given any "food" for 5 days after that whole affair.)
Meanwhile...
"Congratulations Watson, you have been promoted to commander of the team. The mold is taking hold of the humanoids' brains. The two remaining humans believe subject Mike is still in the room with them even though he was vaporized last week."
Meanwhile...
"Congratulations Watson, you have been promoted to commander of the team. The mold is taking hold of the humanoids' brains. The two remaining humans believe subject Mike is still in the room with them even though he was vaporized last week."
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ReplyDeleteI believe "moldy shit" is both a symbol of and a euphemism for the degeneration of humanity in this all too real dystopian reality. The true power and tragedy lies in the intentional failure of hyperbole, as the layering of mold upon the shit grates upon the imagination like a holy fugue of despair.
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