We all have our guilty pleasures in the world of food. While most people love sweets and chocolates, my sugary fix has always been bread. I'm no connoisseur by any means, but I couldn't form words for my love for a fresh loaf of bread. Well, that was until a few years ago. Where, ironically enough, I bought my last loaf of bread.
It was around 10:30 at night when I felt my body's craving set it. That hunger that isn't a true hunger, but a facade that your mind provides that tells you one thing. "I need food."
I quickly made my way to the kingdom that protects my food, but was rewarded with nothing. Ice cream and long forgotten cereal greeted me, but I would not return their welcoming gaze. I wanted one thing, and they lacked a certain amount of wheat content.
I am sure you can all relate to a late night dilemma where you decide if the drive to the store is worth it or not. Whether it be for some much needed sleeping pills, or the infamous "You're not you when you're hungry and sleepy" Snickers. In my case, my only aid for true slumber was going to be bread. Sweet, buttery bread.
I grabbed my keys without hesitation and was driving beneath the city lights within minutes. Late night adventures provide a lot of closed stores, but I was fortunate enough to live in a largely populated city. Did you know there a place in Las Vegas that delivers cheeseburgers at 3:00 AM? What a time to live.
I digress.
It was just after midnight when I skidded to a halt in the handicapped spot closest to the door. (I'm a piece of shit, sue me. Grandma isn't shopping at midnight.)
It was a small mom and pop bakery that was open for another thirty minutes. I couldn't understand the language the name said, only that the word "Bakery" was stamped on a window. It wasn't a popular place by the looks of it, but as long as I got my fix, I didn't care.
I burst into the joint like I owned the place, my walk confident and my goal clear. I addressed the woman with a polite smile, bowing my head.
"Evening! Got any fresh bread?" I said, forcing a smile.
She looked up from her crossword puzzle, raising a brow. Under other circumstances, I might have gawked at her simple beauty. Her skin was dark and flawless. One of those girls that looked extraordinary in a simple outfit, no makeup, etc. I pushed my attraction to her out of the way. My goal was simpler than potential mates.
The girl gave me a odd look, eyeing me up and down.
"Not really, but I was just about to throw this Naan out." She began before I intervened.
"I'll take it. How much?" I asked, my eagerness making me forget myself.
She smirked as she reached into the case to grab the wrapped bread.
"No charge. Would've thrown it away anyway. We don't usually have customers that look like you." She said, smiling as she handed over the bread.
I grabbed it quickly, giving my thanks with a nod. I chose to ignore her words, assuming she meant the color of my skin.
"Have a good life, sir." She said, chuckling as I nearly stumbled out the door.
The drive home was long and annoying. I'm not one to eat in a car, no matter how hungry I am. I have to enjoy my food in a nice chair. Which is where my rear was firmly planted not thirty minutes later.
The bread itself wasn't anything special. It's odor was lovely, seemingly fresh despite its age. The exterior was slightly hard, but still gave way to the firmness of my grasp. It would suffice as my late night indulgence.
I sunk my teeth into the softness as a wolf would a sheep's neck. The taste, even in its stale state, was divine. The small flatbread was gone within moments and was soon followed by drowsiness and satisfied sighs. I slept like a child on Ambien.
The effects weren't too noticeable at first. I was a little pale in the morning, but I shrugged it off. I was already pretty white, so nothing was too noticeable. It wasn't until later that day that I noticed more severe signs.
I tasted the bitter sweet taste of blood in my mouth as I ascended the stairs to my apartment. It swished in my mouth as I made my way to the restroom sink, spitting the content into the running water. The crimson color faded quickly as I began to examine my mouth.
My gums were leaking blood in the spaces between each of my teeth. Bloody gums aren't too uncommon, but I'm a regular flosser and I brush my teeth twice a day. My gums weren't THAT sensitive.
Within an hour, two of my teeth had fallen out. That's when I made my way to the emergency room. I was hyperventilating in the car as I made my way there. A red mist splattered against my windshield when a heavy cough escaped my throat. My mind was racing with explanations at this point. None of them relevant to the actual cause of my bleeding.
"I need help!" I managed to scream at a nurse, interrupting her smoke break.
She quickly threw her cigarette down, running to my side. I wasn't weak, but the shock of the situation was taking all the strength away from my legs. She propped me up with surprising strength and before I knew it I was on a gurney.
There was an assortment of blood tests, physical exams, and samples of flesh taken. I thought I was in good hands. That was before my room was quarantined. My freak out meter went from rational to holy shit-fuck pretty quickly.
In the span of six hours, the effects began to get more and more severe. Where it had started in my mouth, there were now scabs forming all around my body. I was bleeding from every orifice, just enough for it to be noticeable but not enough for me to lose consciousness.
They had a steady flow on O Negative hooked up to me, but it only seemed to prolong my inevitable decay into death. Even I pieced together that I was being eaten alive, or dissolved by some foreign chemical.
Regardless of the cause, I knew I was dying. You can't lose that much blood and look as bad as I did and not know your days are numbered. And the pain. I hadn't got to that part.
It was a new form of pain I had never experienced. My flesh was liquifying before my eyes and the doctors and CDC couldn't tell me what it was. I was degrading at such a speed that soon there would be no hope for recovery. The doctors were blunt at my request. I had a couple days left.
And then a miracle happened. The doctors discovered what was causing the damage.
There is a species of microscopic insects that have a name too long for me to understand. They're lifespan is extremely short, but their reproduction speed is alarmingly fast. Apparently, I had let these little things in via my mouth, and they quickly crawled their way into my bloodstream.
And they fed. And then they reproduced. And where one died, their offspring would would take their place. I was being eaten alive by some Indian flesh eating bug. They discovered it on a whim. Thankfully one of the doctors did a overseas mission in India. He's the one that caught it and administered the medicine that would flush them out.
I recovered, slowly. My muscles had not deteriorated to the point of no return, but I would never be the same. I have been horribly scarred, both physically and mentally. But that isn't the end of things.
After my recovering, I was driving around one day and happened upon the very same bakery I had found. I would have shrugged it off, but I saw something that I hadn't seen in the darkness of the night.
I saw the name of the shop, written in Hindi. Google translate is a hell of a tool. You can imagine my horror when I discovered that they weren't an ordinary bakery. They were a bakery focused on helping people with weight loss.
"Lose half your body mass, guaranteed!"
This horrifying realization pushed me to translate the rest of their signs. Most of it was the same stuff, promises of weight loss. The last one, in big red letters, gave me a mixture of emotions. Horror, anger, frustration, and at last, humor.
"Must return to cease weight loss!"
I fucking hate bread.
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