“C-Carly… p-please…” you mutter loudly, shaking your head, trying to force it from your mind.

                Sickeningly, you realize that you very nearly dashed forward across the tile and dove into the pile of warm bread and saliva mush your sister has gifted to you.

                “Please, just a fresh piece…” you say loudly, as respectfully as possible.  “… please?”

                Carly stares at you, considering your plight (it seems, anyway) as she takes a larger, more pensive bite of her sandwich and begins to chew methodically.  After about thirty seconds of near silence, where all you hear is the soft munching sound inside Carly’s mouth, she swallows, clears her throat, and speaks.

                “You don’t want anything to eat?  That’s fine,” she says casually, reaching down with her fingers and grabbing up the mushy ball, popping it back into her mouth and swallowing it whole.

                “No!  No, that’s… that’s not what I m-mean…”

                “Jack, stop babbling for two seconds.  You said you were tired, right?”

                “Yeah…”

                “And you said you were hungry, right?”

                “Uh-huh…”

                “Well then…” says Carly, leaning her head back and propping the elbow of the sandwich holding arm up on the countertop near you.  “From the way you looked earlier, you were so tired you couldn’t even walk.  How are you supposed to be able to chew anything?” she says, her lips curling upward from the corners.  “Remember?  I’m your big sister.  I do things to help you,” she says, grinning.

                Yes.  That’s EXACTLY what she’s doing.  She’s being a kind, compassionate soul.

                No.  She’s totally just trying to force you, in your state of desperation, to eat her spit.

                “I-I know!  But, I promise, I can chew now, I can, I’m feeling…”

                “If you wanted me to believe that, you wouldn’t have collapsed like you were dead or something on the bed and forced me to do the second half of my pedicure.  Seriously, Jack, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to get down to business and do a half-decent job sometimes, but I still have to just shove you around to make sure you learn your manners.”

                “Carly, plea-”

                “Last offer, little bro.  Let me make the eating easier for your tired little body, or you’re not getting anything.”

                It’s this moment where you realize you have to make a choice.  She’s just thrown the decision at you with very little notice, and she’s making it a limited time offer.  And you make it, for the sharp desire you have to truly live again.

                “OKAY!” you yell out, defeated.  She grins.

                “Good boy.  Sounds like you’re starting to get smarter already.  Here, let me get it ready for your teensy mouth…” she says, opening her jaws fully.  You watch as Carly presses the sandwich in.  More, and more, cramming it in.  You watch in shock as she fills her entire mouth with clean sandwich, a fresh drooble of spit sliding down the top of the remaining sandwich.  With as much of it as she can get in, your sister bites down hard through the squishy interior and pulls the sandwich back.

                Her cheeks puff out hard as she struggles to chew and breathe slightly more heavily with the effort.  You watch as she is forced to open the front of her lips ever so slightly to continue getting air as her powerful jowls grind up the wheaty, mucid batter.  Several dribbles of saliva come pouring out in separate drops like a leaky faucet, plopping to the marble floor right in front of you, and forming a reflective puddle from the lamps above.

                Finally, after a full minute of straight chewing, it ceases.  Carly rears her head forward a little in preparation, then parts her lips slowly like docking gates.  As she does, instantly a waterfall of brown, soupy, pulpy mash with flecks of juicy purple splotches of jelly cascades to the ground, landing with a loud squish right in front of you.  As if to add a cherry on top, as the ball of bread goop lands, a long, thick strand of saliva stays connected to the bread all the way down, thinning as it twirls around in the air, finally cutting off as Carly makes a small spitting sound to break it off from her moist lips.  It plops down comfortably on top of your meal, drizzling fancily over the hill before you like a condiment.

                You stare at it: this thing before you.  You can see bits of shorn crust littered around the mass of white bread, mashed into a ball and infused solid with gallons of your sister’s sluiced slobber.  Dark violet streaks line the edges, where the jelly was sucked down into the bread fibers, reminding you of blood stains.  Dripping masses of the once-thick peanut butter, now softened into a liquid form by Carly’s ultimate solvent, plop with soft plunks down the soft, matted bread ball.  The entire blob of goo and partially digested wheat and jelly mix is about two times larger than you would be if rolled up into a ball.

                “Eat up, little bro, it looks yummy,” says Carly, and she can’t help but snicker a little at you as you walk pitifully forward across the marble counter, toward the ball.  You reach it; the entire tan mound of horrible goop comes up about to stomach level with you.  Now that you’re this close, you can smell it.  The wheaty, oven-baked scent of the soft bread.  The fruity zest of the preserved grape jelly, jiggling delightfully within the wet folds of the mash.  The salty tinge of the liquid peanut butter, pooling underneath the pile.  The slightest trace of Carly’s bad breath from an entire day gone by since her last brushing, like a garbage dump, partially covering the mash in a haze.

                In spite of yourself, your mouth begins to water at the sight and smells coming from this chewed up sandwich bite your sister is forcing you to eat like a baby bird from a mother sparrow.

                Good God, you think.  What the hell am I now?

                What the hell am I, you think again in response.  What I am is hungry as hell, you remind yourself forcefully, and dive forward, digging your hands into it.  Instantly, your fingers push through the warm, gummy pulp; it all feels like a massive pile of oatmeal, stacked up and dried into a slightly harder condition, tough but just soft enough to push through with a little effort.  You dig your hands in deeper, driving them in to the hilt of your shoulders, grabbing on.  You can feel each distinct texture throughout the wonderful smelling mound.  The grainy, fluffy give of the soaked bread.  The cool, drenched dribbles of grape jelly smeared in purple stripes all over the stuff.  The gooey peanut butter, still a bit sticky but running between your fingers from the gooey new form it’s taken from being mixed so thickly in your little sister’s saliva.

                Then, hugging the stuff up to you, the warm, chunky mash sticking to your skin easily, you pick it up in a massive heap like a giant snow ball.  Your face inches from it, you dive in, burying your face and mouth in it, practically inhaling it down your mouth and throat with quick gulps.  You can taste it all the flavors still, the slightly fusty zing from your sister’s smelly mouth included, but you don’t care, eagerly savoring the mushy bread and jelly smears like it was your last meal.

                For all you know, it could be.

                You hug your face in it, engulfing your entire head into the warm, inviting mash, blocking out the soft sounds of the AC off in the distance as your ears go into it, your hair becoming sticky with your sister’s saliva, which pervades every square millimeter of each bite you take in and swallow.  You don’t even bother looking up at Carly, having a pretty good idea of the look of insane condescension and self-indulgence she’s probably giving you.  The pudding-like goop starts to seep a little as you break up an air pocket, releasing a little stream of peanut butter-spit mixture in a waterfall down the front of your body and down your legs to the ground, staining your legs light brown.  You practically just have to suck the delicious liquid goodness in, so viscous is the frothy-bread combo that it flows right down your throat like a drink, the amazing and refreshing flavors spiking your brain impulses again and almost giving you a high as your fast is finally broken.

                Having finally eaten your fill, barely half of the massive load you managed to stick to your upper torso, you release your arms and let the majority of the bite flop to the ground with a little squish of the liquid underneath, some remnants of bread mush caked to your arms and chest still.  You feel revitalized like never before today; you actually feel like you might survive a couple more hours at least, which is comforting to you.  You know it shouldn’t be comforting, but it is.

                Your face, arms, and chest now covered in saliva and bread residue, a dried stream of liquid peanut butter trailing down your legs, you look up at your sister, chewing through the last bite in your mouth.  She’s had her chin resting on her fist thoughtfully this whole time, watching your every move, witnessing it as you eat out of necessity the vile goop she just chewed up and spewed out of her nasty mouth cave, her face locked in a stoic but sure smile.  Finally, without saying a word, her hand shoots out from under her chin.  You watch as it reaches behind you, her fingers forming a flat wall.  They come barreling at you, sweeping you forward to the ground and pushing you along the marble with ease.  An instant later your body is falling face first into the large remaining pile of bile-like peanut butter mush , like leaping into a pile of leaves.  The stickiness coats you, the heat returning to your slightly chilled form.  It actually feels a little bit good, despite the odd gooeyness coating you now.  It’s not like it’s anything new, though, after earlier today.

                You feel Carly’s palm pressing against your ass, mushing you further into the remaining goop.  Then, you feel it shifting underneath you as your sister picks up the entire pile and you, raising it into the air in her cupped hand.  You look forward to see her lips pursed in thought. You look up to see another smooth palm coming down on you, slowly, darkening your gaze as it forms a little hut over your prone form in the remaining mash.  She smushes downward, your sister’s hands forming a “sandwich” out of the PB&J itself and you, crushing the spittle-drenched goo into your very pores as she works it in to your skin.  This goes on for several minutes, your sister kneading you and her massive chewed bite like a Play-Doh ball, wadding it up, until the stuff has leaked thoroughly into your every opening, and is coating you similarly to the cool lavender lotion of earlier today.  This time, though, the stuff coating your body retains heat, like a coat, wrapping you in a soft, juicy layer of tannish backwash.

                After you’ve been thoroughly mixed with her chewed food, Carly releases her hand on top, and grabs you by your left leg with two fingers, plucking you out.  With a quiet squishing sound as the drying membranes of soggy bread crusts break around your limbs, you lift up, mush surrounding you completely and staying stuck, taut to your naked skin.  Carly dangles you upside down like this for a moment, lowering the garbled goop in her other hand back to the counter, where she retrieves the shoe lace.  Without a word, she nods at you and starts walking slowly up to the upstairs area, leaving your naked body to swing in the cold air, pinched by an ankle between her thumb and forefinger, her other hand clutching the shoe lace comfortably.

                Soon, you reach your sister’s bedroom again.  She flicks the light on, then takes a seat on her bed, wrapping the shoe lace back around your body slowly, looping it several times to ensure the knot is tight but not so much that it restricts your breathing.  A few flecks of the food coating around your body are knocked off, but not much else is, so heavily is it stuck to you.

                With your body finally tied back up, your sister walks you over to her closet, opening the door steadily.  Instead of hanging you from a clothing hangar, she instead loops the top of the shoe lace onto a nail on the back wall of her closet, pushing some clothes out of the way.  Your mush-covered body is bumped hard against a thick woolen sweater and the cold metal button of a jean jacket as your sister’s hand swoops you all the way back.  You dangle against the wall helplessly, bumping into it a couple times before setting yourself comfortably in midair.

                You don’t even know what to think right now.  You’re fully aware that your sister just forced you to eat her spit and mushy, pre-chewed food, before molding  a hot mass of it around your body like tar, and yet the feeling of utter fulfillment you got from refilling your stomach is able to overcome this somewhat.  You’re not even thinking too far ahead of what’s going on right now as you bask in the feeling of your stomach taking in the food finally, part of your body’s various current pains washing away.

                “If you have to, um…” says Carly, thinking.  “…GO sometime, just go ahead and go downward.  I’ll clean it up later.  And if you get hungry, eat some of the leftovers off of yourself,” she says calmly and coolly, arching her eyebrows as she explains.  “I’m glad we made some progress today, bro.  I can’t wait to see what you can do when you actually try hard and listen to me like you just did.  Now, good night, little doll,” she says sweetly, the thick sugar in her voice almost giving you goosebumps.  Pulling the clothes over to the side, covering you up behind them, you hear the loud slam of the closet doors, throwing you back into pitch blackness once again.