The Cereals

[Bl★ck Star]

I bolted upright from the dream, drenched in sweat. God, it was bad. It was the same one again; the one where the howling men actually find me, and don't say a word as they bring me into the trees, their claws looking even sharper in the moonlight...
No. No. I was awake now. I was safe. I was in my own bed, next to my loving wife, with my whole life ahead of me. And perhaps, most importantly, I was hungry.
I stood, stretched, and strolled into the bathroom, where I wondered if anybody was imagining what I was doing. Feeling about ten pounds lighter, I meandered to the kitchen, my head full of ideas that thankfully banished the howling men from my dreams back to oblivion:
Should I have eggs? I thought, my action-hero pecs glistening in the early morning sun. With toast and bacon? No, too much time to prepare. Oatmeal? I chuckled to myself, wondering if that king among men Bruce Lee even knew what oatmeal was. It was probably better not to risk it.
For minutes and more, I stood in silent, increasingly frantic contemplation. Pop tarts, toaster strudels, leftover pizza, and granola bars were all thrown to the sidelines; yogurt, grilled cheese, and raw cookie dough were all considered, but ultimately rejected. My brow began to furrow, and my pulse was throbbing; I couldn't stand here forever! I needed nutrients! Preferably 9 essential ones!
And just like that, it clicked. Such a simple solution to my worries. I nearly fell to my knees and thanked whatever god is popular these days; I nearly had to wipe away a tear of anticipation.
Cereal. That was it. Those sweet six letters contained so much more than just sounds...they had promise. They had honey roasted oats, almonds, fruit and nuts, wheat and flax and sugar.... they had everything I could dream of, and more. Cereal.
Triumphant in my decision, I marched to the cupboard and chose the mightiest bowl, befitting a fine specimen like myself. Shifting targets on the fly, my fingers then found the finely sanded knob of the next cupboard below; using a gentle touch, like one might use with a fine woman, it too was caressed from its closed state, acquiescing with nary a whimper. The box of Frosty Puffed Honeyfrootio FlakesTM loomed large and majestic within the reverent inner chamber; knowing my power to change worlds, I yanked it forthwith and forced its contents to be strewn into the bowl.
Oh yes, oh yes. No howling men anymore; all the noise in this kitchen would be moans of pleasure.
Shrugging off the shackles of convention, I selected a spoon from a nearby drawer, which had eagerly opened upon my invitation to do so. All that was left - all that I needed to make this fantasy a reality - was a small, insignificant, hardly-worth-mentioning quantity of milk.
That was it. That was all. But no. No. God, or whoever masquerades in his place, was too cruel.
I absentmindedly opened the fridge, expecting to be greeted with the radiant white teeth of a few quarts of milky delight. But it was not to be; there was no jug to be found. Oh yes, I say, there was plenty of butter, and cheese; plenty of yogurt and sour cream; there was even a somewhat terrifying amount of cottage cheese.
But I - a man who had conquered the womb and spent the next decades wandering a hostile planet, before finding myself here - I was milkless.
I dropped the bowl, unaware of how it shattered on the floor. My screams of rage degenerated into wordless wails; they disintegrated into - into howls.
I sank to my knees and gave in. My day was ruined. I was just another howling man.

[meldin]

wow... you wrote this?