Gary Was a Sandwich

Its cold.

Been snowing to beat the devil for the past 6 weeks.

Paper says the spring thaw will be a month late, looks like I’m going to be stuck here for awhile. At least I am not alone.

Satellite dish won’t work through this blizzard.

Nothing but static on the radio.

I have food and enough cut firewood to last me to the thaws if I am careful.

I have enough books to stave off boredom for awhile.

I check in on Gary.

He looks peaceful enough.

Don’t want to wake him.

He hates being woken up early.

I pass the time.

I read.

I masturbate.

I try in vain to get something on the radio.

I cook my food and eat without pleasure.

Gary doesn’t talk much.

He just lays around, staring at me.

Sometimes I just want to throttle him.

Went out today. Needed to check the petrol in the truck hadn’t frozen solid.

Was gone awhile.

Musta left the front door ajar.

When I came inside, stamping my feet to get the snow off my boots I noticed something was wrong.

The cabin felt strange.

As if there was someone here who shouldn’t be.

When I went into the kitchen a shriek of horror escaped my lips.

“GARY! WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU!”

Gary lay there, torn apart.

Tomatoes and cucumber mingled in runny mustard.

I felt ill.

He had been eviscerated.

His bread was torn, his filling spilled all over.

I sunk to my knees and wept.

My best friend was dead.

Gary. Gary. I will miss you my friend.

I scooped him up and made him as comfortable as possible.

I rearranged his filling in his bread and tried to make it seem as if nothing had happened.

I went to the pantry and got a bag of potato chips.

I put them on a plate.

I added Gary.

Sobbing, I dug in.

I miss you Gary.

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