Lukes hand trembled as he looked over at the breakfast table.
He had been attracted to many things before, he took pride in being quite... adventurous. This was the first time he had been so excited to see a bowl.
He had grown up with this bowl, spent mornings watching cartoons and eating cereal out of it. It was like a childhood friend to him. Its colours had faded but it was still as special as the first time he had tasted from it.
That morning he had been left alone, his parents and brother had gone off to do something or other. He couldn't remember...
Truthfully, the only thing he could focus on right now was the subtle curvature of the ceramic dish. The way it's outer edge teased him, drawing him closer.
The many men in his life who he would have thought about when feeling like this suddenly disappeared. The only things in his world was him and this bowl.
Sensual, exotic, delicate.
All the things he loved about it.
He almost felt dirty for thinking about how the bowl would feel with his hands wrapped tightly around it. It's weight, the smooth touch it would embrace him with.
He held power over this bowl, maybe that was part of the appeal. It would move where he moved it, be touched how he touched it and, if he wanted to, break exactly how he wanted it.
He found the familiarity of it comforting... and exciting. He trusted this bowl and it trusted him, but they had never been this intimate before. Would it change their whole relationship? He couldn't wait to find out.
He had time, him and the subject of his affections could take as long as they liked. After all, his parents probably wouldn't be back for a while. They could experience every moment of pleasure they desired from each other.
The sun shine through the window, illuminating the subject of his lust. It shone like an angel, inviting him to come closer.
He obliged willingly, hands quivering.
Fantasies flashed through his head, the heavy weight of the sin he was about to commit hung in the back of his mind but it was dominated by thoughts of what he was about to do to this luscious bowl.
The bowl lay there, patiently, awaiting his touch, his gentle caress, his piercing gaze excited it in all the wrong ways. No one had ever looked at it in such a way and, in this moment, all that mattered was the artist and his muse.
His long fingers gently reached down and explored the bowl, it's every curve and corner becoming another way for him to grasp the beauty of life, of death, of everything. A warm feeling spread throughout his body, it was like that time he got an injection.
The bowl squirmed under his lustful touch, secretly enjoying every little bit of it.
Everything disappeared apart from the two lovers, bound by their mutual desire in a world normally so devoid of empathy.
The window burst open.
"GIMME MA DISHES!"
Luke jumped, his hands flying up.
The bowl shattered on the ground.
His heart dropped.
Each piece, every moment, destroyed before his very eyes, and by none other than himself.
The one person he swore to love unconditionally, dead by his own hand.
Could he ever love again?
No mortal would be as beautiful as the one currently lying on the ground in front of him.
He fell to the ground, tears streaming down his face.
Shock turned to regret, regret turned to grief and grief turned to anger.
How could he have done that?
Destroyed the only part of himself that was truly alive, truly in love.
He grabbed a piece of his past lover.
He aimed for his throat.
After about five to ten minutes without oxygen the brain becomes irreversibly damaged.
Luke was hoping it wouldn't take that long.
His blood created puddles of scarlet, streaming through the islands of his dead love.
As he took his last breath he considered what he had lost.
He knew this was the only way.
...
...
"What the fuck?" asked the lady who had just witnessed this tragic scene, to no one in particular.
She just wanted her dishes back.
Written by the hive mind
