A Life of Crime

Well, one thing has led to another, and I am afraid I have accidentally eaten another loaf of bread singlehandedly... I am really not sure how these things keep happening to me. One moment I am innocently sitting next to a french baguette, and the next thing I know, the suspicious loaf-in-question has physically leapt at me from across the table and forced entry to my mouth before I even have a decent chance at self defense. When I come to my senses, I am staring (rather dazed and confused) at an empty plate. Often with a large blank gap in my memory, I have no recollection of the events that transpired and no clues to the puzzle apart from a line of crumbs leading up to me and a heavy, bready feeling in my stomach.

The mysterious disappearances of suspect bread loaves in my presence has grown worse lately, and as the expansive blank segments of my memory become more and more severe, the death toll of loaves in the vicinity continues to mount. I am beginning to see a correlation between the two. Loaves of bread in my house are particularly prone to untimely ends. Just today, a baguette (last spotted above the refrigerator at approximately 8:15 pm) went missing without a trace. The police have been notified of the incident, but thus far no clues have been unveiled.

I can't suppress a nagging feeling, however, that I may be somehow connected to these crimes... Strange disappearances of breaded items like this is not unusual in my household, and I often find mysterious traces of bread in strange places like behind my fingernails, tucked away in my coat pockets, or even hidden in my bed. I have heard cases of manic gluttons ripping loaves to shreds in psychotic fits before, but only recently have I begun to connect these stories to myself.

After much secrecy, suppressed anger, and denial, I am afraid I can hide the dark and hideous truth no longer.... I am a Serial Bread-Eater. Prone to obsessive attacks of hunger, I prey upon innocent loaves like a vampire bat hunting for human flesh. In vehement displays of gluttony, I am rendered helpless to my cravings. Carbohydrates shudder in my presence; loaves of bread flee like deer from a forest fire. One trip to the kitchen, and my memory almost routinely goes blank. I awake from my trance one loaf of bread fatter with one more mysterious disappearance weighing on my conscience.

With the problem ever increasing, police investigations around my house are becoming something to worry about. How long before they trace the missing loaves back to me? How many days can I allude capture? Though hardened by years of undetected crime, it is only a matter of time before I am caught. Bread-eaters like myself are particularly prone to imprisonment; one clever trap, and I'm done for. Nets hidden under spreads of toast; freshly baked cakes left lying around in giant cages; muffins wired with alarms or explosives-- any of these sneaky ambushes, and I'll find myself landed behind bars.

Such is the future of a serial bread-eater... I can only count my blessed days of freedom for so long. Heinous criminals like myself deserve to be punished, after all.