Me:Wtf is going on? Did someone steal your phone and slash your tires so you wouldn’t be able to get in touch with me?
Erin:I don’t know, but it totally seems like it, right?? They obviously didn’t want me talking to you this morning or else you’d realize that email was bullshit. Also PLEASE tell me you didn’t touch those cookies yet. Whoever made them probably laced them with something!!
Me:I ate one already. It tasted a bit weird, but it’s been 30 minutes and I feel totally fine.
Erin:Throw the rest out anyway! I bet they put weed in them so they could get you in trouble for being high at school. It might take a while to kick in, so you should try to get home as soon as possible. Just tell the teacher you feel sick.
Before I could reply, the silence in the room was shattered with a series of chimes and vibrations. My fellow students pulled out their phones and stared down at their screens. A frenzy of whispers and murmurs broke out after that, and a couple of girls turned to look at me with wrinkled noses.
“Okay, come on, everyone!” Mr. Blythe said in an exasperated tone, standing up behind his desk. “I know I let you get away with a lot of stuff, but this is just ridiculous. Phones away,now!”
Everyone ignored him, eyes glued to their screens.
Frowning, I looked back down at my own phone. A notification from the Dirt app had just popped up.With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I opened it and scanned the front page.
Posted by: RXorcist, 9:14, October 11th, 2021
Hey Dirt Lovers!
You guys know I usually don’t give a shit about trigger warnings, but today, I feel like some of you might need one. So this is it—stop reading RIGHT NOW if you are even remotely squeamish. Like, seriously. Trust me on this one. Keep reading at your own peril!
Okay, now that’s out of the way… let’s move onto this morning’s scandal.
It looks like everyone’s fave nutjob Kinsey Holland has struck again with her crazy bullshit. Here’s the dirt: Apparently, she baked her dead father’s ashes into cookies, and now she’s walking around eating them like it’s a totally normal thing to do. What the actual fuck?
Maybe it’s some sort of fringe religion thing? Or a cultural ritual I haven’t heard of before? I don’t know. All I can think is EWWWWWWWW. Btw, does anyone know if this counts as cannibalism? It totally does, right?
Anyway, see video/pics below for proof of Cannibal Kinsey!
Below the post was a series of photos showing small, French-manicured hands mixing up a bowl of dough and using a cutter to create heart-shaped cookies. My father’s blue and white urn was in the background of the pictures. In two of them, the hands were seen lifting the urn and tipping some of the ashes into the bowl before the dough was mixed. Attached at the end of the post was a cellphone video of me standing near my locker, eating one of the cookies from start to finish.
I blinked slowly and put the phone down with a shaky hand, heart pounding so fast I could feel it rattling my ribcage. This was a hallucination. Or a bad dream. It had to be.
Please, please, please…
I looked up to see everyone in the class staring at me with horror and revulsion. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. A rush of heat flooded my body, and black spots formed at the edge of my vision. This was no nightmare. The post was real.
I ate my dad’s ashes.
Bile rose in my throat, followed by a dizzy feeling in my head and a churning in my guts. I abruptly stood, knocking my chair over behind me. It fell with a clatter that seemed extra-loud due to the reigning silence in the room.
Before I could go anywhere, my legs gave way. I keeled over and vomited, splashing the contents of my stomach all over the spotless floorboards and nearby table legs.
“Ew!” The closest girl jumped up to avoid the acrid spray. “Mr. Blythe, make this bulimic bitch stop!”
“Language, Aimee!” Mr. Blythe snapped as he hurried over. He clapped his hands together. “All right, everyone, go to the library and finish your work there. I need to get Kinsey to the nurse and organize someone to clean this room.”
A stampede of footsteps echoed through the room as everyone piled out. Mr. Blythe crouched next to me, gently holding my hair back as I deposited another pile of partially-digested food onto the floor. “You poor thing,” he murmured. “Let’s get you to the nurse. Can you walk?”
I retched again. “I… I don’t know,” I choked out. “I feel so sick.”
“I’ll get you some water. Then we’ll try. Okay?”
After a glass of water, which I could barely keep down, I headed to the nurse’s station with Mr. Blythe by my side. On the way, I told him what happened.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I thought the bullying was bad when I was a student here, but this is something else.”
My brows shot up. “You went to CPA?”