Four Painful Years

>A peanut-butter and blackberry sandwich sounds good. It should hopefully be enough to satisfy you for now. Plus it's your favorite.

Aw yeaaaah, BB n' peebs, just like Dad used to make. Growing up, you were never upset when food started to dwindle. Peanut butter, bread and jam were never in short supply, so the last few days before groceries Dad would just make you all the sandwiches you could eat. Might explain your terrible eating habits. Sometimes, you wonder if you might be able to eat yourself comatose before the thing in your head can get you... Y'know, make a game out of it. If you're going to go, you might as well go out with a full stomach and no regrets, right? Why let nature have all the fun?

... You let the butter knife hover in the air for a while.

Like, you don't really want to go, but... what choice do you have? You were never living on your own terms to begin with. You were born with cells specifically programmed to turn traitorous, or, at least that's how the doctors described it to you. You were literally born to die.

You blink away some of the moisture in your eyes. It could be a whole lot worse. Mom and Dad aren't around to watch their daughter...

...

... ANYwho, just a bit of morning melancholy. Back to the sammiches.

You finish putting together a couple of PB&Js and take a tremendous chunk out of the smaller. You always make two at a time; one to eat on the way to your chair, and another for when you get there. You hum appreciatively as the peanut butter oozes between your teeth. Before you forget, you also pour yourself some chocolate milk.

The breakfast of champions.