I trudge through moles of muck, exhaling dollops of clear bubbles from my withering throat, gasping at the thinning silhouettes in the distance.
My cerebrum is forked with a gassing stove; the butter violently trickles down in attempts to cook.
The steak is dispatched, and I wince further pleading for the forthcoming seasoning, to receive a little respite as my blurring corneas showcase increased heaps of brown.
My cadence dwindles, the glutes burn, and the broccoli enters the fray.
Unbuoyed by the excruciating heat, my lungs inhale the brisk air as my blurred vision extinguishes with the click of the extractor fan.
The peppercorn sauce is meticulously snapped with 2 forces of blunt metal, and the calves receive a shorter but bearable dose of petroleum as the rectangular door is bolted for one further minute.
Far sharper aluminum gracefully snips through the lightening earth, and the skeletal masses are reeled in as the cerebellum rejoices at the decreasing clock.
The condiment splutters, as the microwave is sprung open, and the steak and broccoli receive their well-earned nourishment.
Hands grasp together, and the humanoids reminisce over their shared exertions, gleefully adoring the statistical tallies on their outer radius.
Laces are untied, and editions of the Daily Record ravel round the size nines.
Hands begin to soak, and moistening grit escapes through the drainpipe; the figures are ready for their feed.
Euphoric feats of froth gargle as the bodies taste buds experience their moment of orgasm.
All the merrier, their reward for their relentless trundling in the unforgiving country.
Days later the individuals gather lambasting on their failed escape from their daytime desked regiments.
No blades of grass have been scorned today, and as they chew their fillets, it is evident there is not a single mouthward shut eyed sensation on show here.
