Want some brownies?
I can't possibly eat 'em all by myself.
You should have at least one.
Mom's recipe.
Imbued with her love.
No?
Don't want to ruin dinner, eh?
Makes sense.
Well . . . maybe I can make this work all by myself.
Eyes retract deep inside skull. Sharp teeth wrigglepierce their way out of the meats rimming the sockets. Nostrils distend with a crackle of cartilage as new teeth manifest there, too. Drool pours from the four new mouths. A dense wall of fart noises as new stomachs bloom within the abdomen.
There we go.
Heh . . . now all these brownies don't seem like much.
Less of a gorge, more of a snack.
You turn away from the feast, glad to have a prior appointment.
