When I reach into the crisper of the work fridge for 4 non-dairy creamers I always imagine...
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that the creamers are collectively screaming in terror. That the ones I pick are begging, pleading and crying. That if my clawed hand happens to drop one - the one I pick to replace the Lucky One screams the loudest.
When I open the creamers they die. When I toss the empty packets into the trash their bodies are being discarded.
When I walk away with my coffee or tea - I still hear the screaming in the crisper through the fridge door.
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