Read by Rebecca Yeo
‘Count down: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Go!’
I dive in, grabbing my first hotdog and second. I slip out the sausages and push them into my throat, cutting them into chunks with my incisors and grinding them into pulp with my molars. I fold the buns over. Dipping them into water, I flatten them together with my hands and shove them into a wide mouth with a flat palm. I swallow them whole, squeezing my throat muscles to tighten and open my trachea, thrusting the food along like a snake, shredding the bread’s soft decomposing body. I take a gulp of water. And on to the next. Mechanically.