/lit/ - Literature

Today is April 5th, or maybe sometime in April, don’t really know. Best guesses put me somewhere away from December but who cares. The sun shines like all hell, sapping water from the skin and making me too damn tired to not find some dark ground to drop myself into. Regrettably, I toss myself into a shelter made of some scarcely visible metal sticking out of the ground at an angle of… I don’t know maybe 80 degrees… with an overhang. It’s shady. But hunger is coming on.
To that end, I toss a ration bag full of my own piss into the sun for best results. After about an hour of letting it bake in the sun, while I do the opposite, I tear the bag open to feast on something called “Butter Chicken and Pasta with Lentils”. Apparently that’s how they capitalized back then. It tastes like condensed milk mixed with tomato pasta sauce that isn’t rotten. Not bad actually.

Brace your cunt.

I am trying to make an awful story. Please help me make this worse and decide if I should continue.