He stood in the kitchen, propped up against the counter to eat his breakfast (he rarely ever sat down to eat) and stared at his bowl of cereal. The little hoops of compressed multi-grain were floating in the milk, the rest of their wholesome compatriots having been plucked from their half-globe city to nourish the monster who held them in his hands. These last few, these survivors of the spoon onslaught, were now clinging together in the milk in a futile effort to escape death.

He stared for while, allowing these circles of hope to get soggy before finally putting them out of their misery and then he downed the milk in one, impressive swig.

“It’s a little like humanity,” he muttered, rinsing out the bowl. He held the empty, dripping glassware as he thought a bit more. “We come into this bowl a discordant mass, but when the chips are down and you’re left floating almost alone…”

He sat down the bowl in the sink and looked out the window. A lone cat meowed at him and he thought, “I’m gonna write this down.”