Usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing but the story.

FINE YOUNG CANNIBAL by M.J. Leitch

The fact of the matter is, no one really understands Lyle. For a while, he didn't mind; if his time with Doctor William had taught him anything, it was that being understood was highly overrated, and only the truly, sadly ordinary would ever want to be laid bare with such…ease.

But recently, there have been times--late at night when he's wandering his apartment, turning on his lava lamp just to see the blobs of red, trying to convince himself he's hungry enough for a late night snack by staring at the rows of take-out cartons in his fridge without remembering very specifically what's in them--times when he wishes someone could see him for who he really is, and not be totally disgusted. Not that he's a disgusting person. Lyle prides himself on his looks, his health, the fastidiousness of his personal grooming habits. He's well-educated, well-spoken, and well-off; he's well-aware that a number of people find him downright charming, and yet when it comes to having a date for dinner, he always goes home alone--usually with a bad taste in his mouth.

Frankly, he's getting a little tired of that, and of always being misunderstood. It's not his fault his tastes conform to an eccentric palate; anyway, Doctor William seemed to think that sort of thing should be cultivated, especially during the early days when Lyle was callow and naive and barely even cognizant of his own depths.

Unfortunately, Doctor William hasn't been on the clock for years now. In the end, the old man proved to be a little too tough to swallow, and since Lyle tends to lose respect for the things that stick in his craw, their relationship had been doomed from the start. Still, when those late-night pangs strike, Lyle sometimes finds himself thinking back on the good doctor--not because he'd understood Lyle, but because he'd been there from the beginning, and sometimes that was close enough.

No one really understands Lyle; no one's supposed to. The problem is, he's lonely. And no one can survive the trip through his stomach to get to his heart.

End.

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