pork posts

 

A heavy lump of musty laundry clumsily paced down the train. As it reached the narrowing gap between Melissa and her opposing commuter it awkwardly rotated its mass and haphazardly brushed past. With a strong whiff of sullied detergent the last pork scratching was knocked from Melissa's hand and onto the carriage floor. Melissa was distraught,  stranded with her prize-less fingers still poised agonisingly close to her mouth. She could still smell the pungent morsel of fat on her digits and a lusting deluge of saliva gathered beneath her tongue. She searched her mouth for a morsel of pig to feed this pool of anticipation and finding nothing, turned to the blob of wool and polyester. The mixture of damp linen was now sat two seats down from her and smiled as she eyed his face. Melissa scoured his features, looking for the evil that lurked beneath all that fabric, wanting to expose the ignorant beast that had stolen her piglet. The man was fat but pleasant looking, she turned back despondent and looked down at her empty hand as the train jarred along its tracks. She had been holding the nugget of gristle for some time and was still in shock that it had escaped her. She always enjoyed the last nibble, the last snack, more than the others. From a young age it had been her habit to consume it with great care and method. A method that with pork scratchings was informed by the scratchings proceeding the last as the quality of the bag would have a most definite impact on her decision. For this particular scratching, she had been torn between gnawing the fat from the hard crackle then champing down ceremoniously, or sucking it in its entirety until the fat disintegrated and the rind went soft. She believed she would have gone with the sucking option as the power of her mouth's acids always fascinated her and the packet had proved worthy of testing their resolve. The blob of cotton suddenly leant forward with determination, it hankered over its gut, peering at the filthy lino floor. Melissa leant forward peering to where the mass leered. THERE IT WAS! The pork scratching sat tall on the speckled rubber flooring, stood up like a rugby ball waiting to be drilled through the posts. OH NO, NOT THOSE POSTS! The conglomeration of threads stooped and in a graceful motion plucked up the little peace of pig and devoured. Melissa's mouth dropped heavily, the saliva flowing over her dumfounded bottom lip. YOU FUCKER!