Written By: EllaHM
February 13, 2015
It was close to sunrise and Jeffrey was lying in his bed, eyes wide open. He hadn’t slept for even a minute that night. All that was on his mind was milk. He’d been twisting and squirming all night, but nothing could quench his lactose-based thirst. Being a chronic galactophagist hadn’t been an issue in his painstakingly average life up until a few weeks ago, when his doctor had tragically informed him that if he kept his consistent habit of drinking 6 liters of milk a day, his death would be nigh and sudden. Although Jeffrey did not wish to die a death of this nature, he often found himself at times questioning whether he would rather live a somewhat short life complete with 42 liters of milk per week or a supposed long life filled with, or rather, empty of, a measly and dissatisfying 14 liters of milk each week. Right now was one of those times. In last 24 hours Jeffrey had consumed no less than 5 bottles of milk, and he was desperately trying to resist from consuming an additional one. His attempt however, was, as usual, fruitless. Slipping out of bed as silently as he could, like a toddler sneaking out past his bedtime to steal a cookie, Jeffrey tiptoed through his rather filthy house. Reaching the fridge, he sighed in relief as the feeble light from the open door hit his face. Eagerly grabbing a bottle Jeffrey ripped the cap from its plastic bonds and downed almost the entire thing nearly instantly. The reason Jeffrey was falling short of his standard “full bottle nearly instantly” was because he had died ¾ of the way through it. The end had been nigh and sudden.