The first few words bead on my chapped lips, and I lick them off hungrily. As words become sentences, sentences phrases, and phrases ideas, the droplets grow to a steady stream. I gulp at them hungrily, letting the surfeit dribble down my chin.
The flavor lingers after I've shut the book, sitting heavily in my mouth and mind. Instead of being swallowed and finished, it has soaked into everything it touched, and now leaks slowly out. I'm soggy and full, like a sponge having absorbed to the utmost.
My foggy, drunken mind remains caught between reality and fiction, struggling to pull back to the former. The story is disturbing, a dark and heavy flavor, and I'm caught beneath it. Drowning under someone else's fictitious weight.
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say whatever strikes your fancy, but please, respectfully.