Intricate Dishes

As my eyes blearily open, and the sun shines through the cracks in my curtain, the stench of dinner last night comes out my mouth almost like visible steam. It's hot as it rolls off my tongue, and tastes like meat. My blankets are halfway down my bed, pooling at my toes. My t-shirt and shorts wrinkled from what was probably a restless sleep of tossing and turning.

Only what's expected after eating your dead grandmother.