STUDENT LUNCH DAY

-RP with an anonymous muse

-Adapted into 2nd-person fiction by Random Dragon
[All characters are at least Seniors in high school, near graduation, and are aged 18+]

You arrive at school on a rainy Thursday. You’re a senior and just trying to get through the year
with a high enough grade to buy you a college meat exemption, which would guarantee another
four years of life. Settling into first period, you slump back in your chair and fidget with a pencil
while the other students take their seats and chat amongst themselves. One of your friends,
Susan, takes her seat next to you.

“Hey Ashley, just a couple months to go and we’re out of this shit hole, huh?”

You look over obviously tired still. "Mhm..." you say, acknowledging what she said. "Well unless
your family has plans for a date between you and a spit this summer."

“Ha, none that I’m aware of. You know my older sister just dropped out of college so there’s NO
WAY I’m riding the spit before she does. She’s so fucked,” she trails off, giggling.

The teacher walks in and everyone quiets down as the morning announcements start blasting
over the PA:
“Good morning students. This is your final reminder that yearbook orders are due by
tomorrow, so.....”
You tune out the vice principal’s annoying voice and notice Susan trying to get your attention.

“What about you, Ash? Any fun plans for the summer?”

You kind of just want to get class over with, so the principal's voice isn't much appreciated.
Couldn't she be converted already?​ You sit up straight in your chair and answer, "Well, we're
going to Spain this year actually! Pretty stoked to relax on some of those beaches. We even
sold one of my older sisters last week to help fund it!"

“That’s awesome! I mean, not awesome for your sister who’s probably already on someone’s
dinner table, but yeah, sounds super fun! Send pictures, girl!”

The announcements drone on: ​“...so proud of our women’s basketball team making it to
the finals. We’ll all be rooting for them this weekend so come on out and...”
As you zone out again, there’s a weird itching in your brain, like you forgot something important.
But there’s nothing special about today, right...? It’s just a Thursday...
Hmm, probably nothing​, you shrug.

“Oof, by the way, I hope you survive your vacation, Ash. You remember Becky...?” She shows
you her phone, on Facebook, a memory from last year. It’s a photo of a nude girl spitted and
turning over a fire on a beach at sunset, her family smiling and posing in front of her browning
body. You hadn't quite thought of that, looking at your (former) friend on the screen. She was
long gone by the time the picture was taken -- did look quite tasty though...

"Yeah... They wouldn't though! They told me that I'm the Thanksgiving roast unless I got a meat
exemption in college. They wouldn't go back on that, right?" Though it wasn't for certain did you
trust them. You kind of had to, because if they wanted you on the spit there really wasn't much
you could do about it.

You notice the air in the room change and everyone suddenly gets quiet and stiff. You look
around, confused, and realize that half the class is looking in your direction. You and Susan
both raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“Jeez, that’s... rough, Ashley,” says a guy in front of you.

An Asian girl (you forget her name) is just staring at you with pity.

Thinking they overheard your small talk, you were a little confused, looking around for any hints
of why everyone suddenly got quiet. The teacher seemingly hadn't started class yet?

Then, you suddenly become​ v​ ery​ aware of the announcements.

“...to the cafeteria immediately. I repeat, would the following students please report to the
cafeteria for Student Lunch day: Amber Huggins. Renee Johnson. Ashley Smith. Please
report to the cafeteria immediately.”

You look over at Susan wide-eyed and she just looks back, shocked and sad, but silent. The
teacher clears his throat awkwardly.

“Well class, I guess we’ll, uh… let Miss Ashley go get ready for her big day and then we’ll get
started. Please get out your homework and I’ll be around to collect it shortly.”

You sigh out loud, sitting for a moment after you realise what’s going to happen to you very
soon. "Well..." you say just loud enough for Susan to hear. Most of the class isn’t even looking
in your direction anymore, just busying themselves with their homework, obviously going out of
their way ​not​ to stare at you. You suppose it’s better that way. Quietly you get up and walk out
of the classroom, heading into the hallway.

You’re immediately met in the hallway by a school resource officer, a middle-aged man who
says nothing and walks beside you to the cafeteria. He’s just there to make sure you don’t make
a run for it — you still remember when that one girl from the track team almost made it out
before being tackled in the parking lot. She was spit-roasted alive and they did ​not​ take it easy
on her. Along the way, you are joined by the other two girls from other classes, each
accompanied by an escort. They seem as stunned and sullen as you. Amber, a chubby
redhead, and Renee, a fit black girl on the volleyball team. ​Not anymore​, you guess.

You just roll your eyes when you see the officer. You might be flexible but you’re not taking a
chance just to be caught and humiliatingly roasted in some other way. You don’t know Amber,
not sure if you had even seen her before. You had met and talked with Renee multiple times
before, even if you weren't great friends. "Guess you're missing your quarter-finals match next
week then?" you say to her in front of you.

“Guess so,” she shrugs. “Fuck… I was so sure I’d get a scholarship. Now instead of riding the
gravy train, my ass is riding the spit.”
“Or the oven,” her escort adds helpfully.
“Or the oven...” Renee sighs.

You enter the cafeteria — oddly cavernous and intimidating when it’s so early and empty — and
are ushered through double doors into the back kitchen area where a few lunch ladies are
already getting packages ready, setting up and checking all the equipment, etc. They shoot you
bored looks, like it’s annoying that they have to prep you to roast, and you stand in silence
between the cooks and the escorts, waiting timidly.

"Thanks,” one of the lunch ladies says without sparing another look. "We're just finishing up.
You got about five minutes with ‘em.” You look over at Renee, unsure who the lunch lady is
speaking to.

Quite suddenly, you feel the escort behind you grab onto your hips. To your left, you see Amber
bent over a table, her skirt pulled up and panties down. You and Renee are bent over where
you stand, your jeans and panties pulled down, too.

"Just what this day needed..." you comment with a terse "​Mmm-hmmm​" from Renee

The men enter you with their hard cocks, but without a word. The whole thing is surreal, being
bent over a cold metal table and casually fucked by some dude who works in the school office,
while a bunch of women stand four feet away, ignoring you while they set out roasting pans,
bowls, and brushes. Renee looks annoyed, literally holding her chin in her hands like she’s just
waiting to be done. Amber is softly crying, sniffling but otherwise unmoving as her hips and ass
jiggle with each thrust. The grip on your hips gets harder, and so does that dick inside you, as
he silently uses you as a masturbatory aid.

You shift eyes from Amber to Renee. She, like yourself, seems much more used to being... well,
used. You know there isn't much to do about it -- just relax and let them have their fun with you.
At least it wouldn't take too long this time. Apart from the period ​clangs​ of the roasting pans and
murmurs from the lunch ladies - as well as Amber’s soft sobbing - all you can hear is Renee and
yourself softly sighing as the office workers enjoy your prime pussies.

The man fucking Amber grunts and bucks his hips wildly, clapping her plump behind with each
diminishing thrust. Shortly after, you feel the cock inside you swell and burst, a blast of hot
breath on the back of your neck as Lucky Office Worker #2 empties his balls into your doomed
cunt. As he and the first guy clean off and redress, you just kind of stay there, panties down by
your ankles, unsure of what to do other than watch Renee’s A-cups bounce.

You feel each burst of cum before the worker finally leaves your cunt. You would normally be
annoyed with a guy finishing inside you but, all things considered, it really doesn’t matter this
time. So you just watch the final worker enjoy Renee instead, all while you can feel the cum
inside you slowly leak out. Finally, he grunts out a louder moan as he stays inside the black girl,
filling her up as well. About five seconds pass before he slowly pulls out and redresses.

The escorts depart, murmuring excitedly between themselves as they go back to reviewing
attendance reports or whatever the fuck they do. After a couple of silent, awkward minutes, a
woman who is clearly the head cook enters, sets her purse down, and gets dressed for the
day's shift. She eyes you dispassionately, the way you'd pick up and judge a bruised apple, then
coughs and clears her throat loudly. "So what's on the menu today, ladies? And why is the
menu still standin' there half-dressed and drippin' cum?"

One of the ladies rolls her eyes and motions lazily at you three girls. "Yeah, yeah, they should've
already known it. You three! Strip down!"

You roll your eyes right back, mumbling to yourself as you step out of your jeans and panties.
Amber looks over at both you and Renee, already stripping down and discarding shirts and
bras. Reluctantly, she follows along.

The head cook approaches you and takes her time poking, prodding, groping, squeezing,
fondling every last bit of your body. As overtly sexual as it seems, you really do get the sense
that she barely regards you as human and is merely appraising the meat she has to work with.
You'd think some people would have a problem with feeling up a teenage girl but this bitch is
literally just doing her job.

She steps back and looks at you in silence for a moment, then speaks. "Well, what do you pigs
think? How were you meant to be cooked? Oven or spit?" She points at Amber. "Oven or spit?"
Amber just shakes her head and stares at the ground, her pitiful sniffling increasing.

The woman sighs and points at you. "Oven or spit?"

You’re looking over at Amber at the moment she asks. ​Come on, get it together Amber. It's not
like you didn't know this could happen to you at some point!​ you think to yourself, slightly
annoyed at her constant sobbing. You look to the lunch lady, who glares at you with a raised
eyebrow. You think about having to endure a sharp metal spit being shoved through your entire
body and, without thinking, blurt out, "Whatever, oven."

The woman shrugs and points at Renee. "Oven or spit?"

Renee seems to share your urgency. "Oven, I guess?" The head cook scratches her chin and
stares at you for a moment. You stand there, ass naked in the school you've attended for years,
moments from learning how you're going to die in a couple hours. It's so surreal, what the fuck...
Like, you ​know​ this happens every week and you've been friends with dozens of girls who've
ended up on your lunch tray next to some green beans, but...it didn't feel real. It was just a
vague threat that happened to other people, not you. You woke up today as Ashley and by
afternoon you'll be a rump roast.

Finally, the woman points at Amber. "Oven #1." One of the ladies behind her speaks up - "Oven
#1 is down, remember?" The head cook sighs. "Right, so Oven #2."

She points at you. "Oven #3."

She points at Renee and seems to hesitate a bit longer than necessary. You can practically
hear Renee gulp. "Spitroast, Pit #1 out back." Without another word, the ladies get busy,
arranging the roasting pans where they need to be and setting out the spit pole, gathering bowls
and sauces and utensils and everything they're going to need to get you ready to be devoured
by hundreds of your (ex?)classmates.

You shoot Renee a sorry look. It definitely won’t be pleasant for her to be impaled like a pig on
a spit. But hey, at least it wasn't you!. The lady grabs Renee's arm, then speaks to you and
Amber. "Go to the table by your oven, pigs. I'll spit the dark meat myself ladies; just get the
other two roasting!" she shouts before dragging off the defeated-looking Renee.

You look over the ovens and see a lunch lady already laying stuff out on the table by it. With a
sigh, you hesitantly accept your situation for a final time and walk over to the lady by Oven #3.

As you stand there watching her expertly prepare the station for today's roast, two well-dressed
women enter through the double doors, one carrying a clipboard. Behind them is another office
drone holding a camcorder. The lead woman, in a sharp suit, tight bun, and glasses, strides
over to you. The two women stand right next to you, without acknowledging your existence, the
man hanging back for now. Turns out Miss Boss Lady is the school's legal counsel, here to
make sure everything is by the book.

She speaks to the chubby redhead first: "Full name and age?" The girl sniffles.
"Amber Rose Huggins, 18."
Then to prep lady #2: "Status of meat?"
"Full-body oven roast, Oven #2."
Then on to you. The attorney speaks in your direction without really looking, her assistant
scribbling on her notepad. "Full name and age?”

You look the lady up and down - seems like a real tight-knit bitch to you.
"Ashley Smith, 18,” you murmur to her, almost annoyed that they can't just shove you in the
oven already.
"Status of meat?" she asks the lady by the table.
"She's going into Oven #3." She points it out. "Full body roast as well."
Is all this bureaucracy even necessary?​ you wonder. ​I mean they're going to roast us alive
anyway, what’s the fucking point?

"Okay, girlie, hop up on the counter here and lie on your back in the roasting pan," the lady
says, slapping the pan invitingly. Looking over, you can see Amber already settled into her pan,
her thick thighs and fat tits splaying openly for all to see as prep lady #2 up-ends a bowl of oil
over Amber's plump, naked body.

You look over Amber's body. ​At least she’s not crying anymore​. You then look to your own
roasting pan before lithely climbing onto the table, laying yourself into the pan. You inhale
sharply, surprised at how cold it feels against your skin.

So this is it. This is where I'll become nothing but roasted meat,​ you think, looking up at the
lunch lady..

She says nothing as she gets to work on you. Oil gets dumped over your front, cold though not
as cold as the pan, and the lady hums as she uses a big basting brush to coat every inch of
your body, up to your neck, all over your breasts and ribs and belly, your thighs, calves, feet.
You wonder if she spends a little too long basting your tight little cunt, or if it's just in your head.
"Flip over," your lady says, and Amber's prep lady echoes the order a moment later. You lock
eyes with Amber for a moment as you get up and reposition yourself on your elbows and knees,
doing your best to fit in the pan so nothing hangs out or over.

It feels surreal, not so much the fact that you’re going into the roaring hot oven in front of you.
No, it’s how she spreads the oil over you, like you’re not even a person to her. You stare into the
oven as yet another load of cold oil is dumped on your back. She once again quickly gets to
work with the brush. The oil is spread over your back and down your sides, then eventually on
your rump and the back of your thighs and legs.

"What do you think about your pig? Any good parts?" your lunch lady asks Amber's as she puts
down the brush. You think she might be done, but quickly feel her grab you once again. Two
fingers slip up into your cunt as she begins to massage the oil inside of it.

"Hmm, this one is a bit chubby,” Amber’s prep lady replies. “Though her tits alone could feed a
family of four!"
The fingers probe your most private depths with the intention of a meat grader rather than a
lover. Your body can’t help but react, though your brain fails to feel the romance it was
expecting. The fingers withdraw and you feel your wrists pulled down underneath and behind
you, forcing you into a weird kneeling position with your ass high in the air. Your wrists are
bound together with thick, sturdy cooking twine and so are your ankles. Then another length of
twine connects your wrists to your ankles, pulling you into a roasting position even tighter. It's
not super uncomfortable (yet) but you get the feeling that it's really going to start to ache if you
stay like this much longer. The women continue to chat as they draw a few more lengths of
twine across your body in various places, making sure you're trussed so tightly you can barely
even flex your muscles, much less move around.

"Ovens should be preheated in five minutes or so," Amber's prep lady says, which draws your
attention to prep station #2, where Amber has been trussed differently than you, her arms pulled
back straight behind (instead of under) her and tied to her ankles, which leaves her torso more
splaying upward and her ass downward, her fat tits pressing against the rim of the pan. ​God
damn,​ you think as her prep lady finishes oiling Amber's ample rump, ​she's a porker, all right.

The prep ladies grab large plastic containers of pre-prepared veggies -- chopped potatoes,
carrots, celery, seasoning -- and dump them into your pans, spreading them around so you and
Amber both have a nice bed of veggies around to soak up your juices. Then they grab a metal
shaker and shake out some seasoning onto your backside. It sounds like a pepper grinder and
you can feel tiny granules of seasoning settle onto your neck, back, legs, and proudly protruding
rump. Amber sneezes three times during her seasoning and the prep ladies just laugh.
Seemingly content with your preparation, the ladies start moving the dirty bowls and utensils to
the sink and washing their hands. Suddenly, the attorney is standing near you two with her
assistant. This time, the man has the camcorder out and recording, pointing it at Amber's face.

The attorney speaks: "We've already recorded the consent of the meat outside so we just need
to wrap up in here and you can get these pigs into their ovens."

The head cook looks annoyed and asks, "Is she spitted and cookin' yet?"

The attorney's assistant nods helpfully - "Oh yes, she's been turning on the spit for about five
minutes now."

The head cook grunts in approval and the attorney looks at Amber and instructs, "Please repeat
after me: I, [state your name], of sound mind and body, do hereby release and relinquish my
body to Westview High School to be used as a meat product. I will be cooked in oven #2 and
served to the student body as lunch on this Thursday, 25th day of March, 2021."

Amber seems to be over her sobbing. She's almost frighteningly calm now, facing the last
minutes of her short life. She clears her throat, looks into the camcorder, and speaks. "I, Amber
Huggins, of sound mind and body, do hereby release and relinquish my body to Westview High
School to be used as a meat product. I will be cooked in oven #2 and served to the student
body as lunch on this Thursday, 25th day of March, 2021."

The assistant checks off an item on her notepad and their attention turns to you. "Please look
into the camera and repeat after me: I, [state your name], of sound mind and body, do hereby
release and relinquish my body to Westview High School to be used as a meat product. I will be
cooked in oven #3 and served to the student body as lunch on this Thursday, 25th day of
March, 2021."

You look into the camera blankly, then up at the tight-knit bitch. "Wha- Why? What do you need
this for? You're gonna cook us anyway,” you say. It seems pointless for them to record your
consent like they wouldn't just throw you into the oven either way. The lunch lady behind the
camera catches your eyes with an angry look, as if to say, ​'get it over with! You're just fucking
meat, cunt!'

"Fine," you sigh and pause before repeating. "I, Ashley Smith, of sound mind and body, do
hereby release and relinquish my body to Westview High School to be used as a meat product.
I will be cooked in oven #3 and served to the student body as lunch on this Thursday, 25th day
of March, 2021.

The assistant checks her notepad and smiles just as the two ovens let off a shrill
*BEEEEEEEEEEP*​. ​Guess they're done preheating.

"Just in time," the attorney says bluntly, checking her expensive watch and nodding at the prep
ladies. "Thank you, ladies. You may proceed."

The prep ladies approach you and Amber to finalize your prep. Oh fuck, there's no more red
tape. This is it. You're like ​two minutes​ away from roasting alive. You feel fingers in your tight
cunt again and they are immediately joined by what feels like a thick carrot (it ​is​ a thick carrot,
for the record) being pushed up into your pussy, deep, deep, way too deep, oh god... Finally it's
up inside you so tightly that even clenching down on it fails to dislodge it. Then a thin, cold,
metal rod is introduced to your asshole, slowly pushing its way inside your tight hole with a little
help from some oil. It, too, goes way too deep, sliding its way up your butt until you can actually
feel a little metal circle resting against your cheeks -- a meat thermometer.

You look over at Amber and she looks like she's starting to panic, too. Completely unable to
move, dripping oil, her holes plugged, her breasts heaving with short, desperate breaths. Your
prep lady suddenly comes around from behind you into your field of vision and holds up an
apple. "Last step, piggy. Open wide and say ​aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh.​ .."

Your eyes jerk crazily around the room. ​This is actually it. I'm going to die soon.​ You might last
twenty minutes in the oven... maybe. And you can’t do anything anymore. You can’t move. You
can’t escape. Your cunt is stretched around a carrot, a thermometer deep in your ass. Your
racing mind finally slows enough for you to realize there really isn't anything you can do at this
point, so you just open your mouth wide, staring ahead at nothing. The lunch lady grips the
back of your head and lifts the apple toward your face.

Just as the apple brushes your lips, the principal strolls in through the double doors. "Principal
Hillman," your prep lady nods to him. "Agnes," he nods back. "I need some relief and I'm sure
one of your pigs could spare me five or ten minutes, right?" Both prep ladies just nod;
apparently this is a fairly common occurrence. ​Of course it is,​ you think darkly. ​Why w
​ ouldn't
the principal be taking advantage of meat without rights?

"So..." the principal drawls, approaching and shifting his gaze between you and Amber. "Would
either one of you like to earn an extra ten minutes of life? One of you can suck my dick and the
other can go in the oven right now." He looks at Amber, then at you. "Speak now, or forever hold
your peace!"

There's a moment of deafening silence. Amber looks at you as if we should both remain quiet
with a slight shake of her head. Although sucking one dick really doesn't make much of a
difference if you can just have a little more time... right? You’re not sure you’d agree with that
thought process if you weren’t about to roast in an oven, but still you speak up quickly. "I'll do it!
You can use my mouth!

"Yes sir, please! Please use me!" Amber shouts just as you speak up. The principal smirks and
looks between you two. "Well darn, we only have time for one. Eeney, meeney, minie, moe..."
he mimes between you two before chuckling and shaking his head at Amber. "I’m just kidding.
Sorry dear, you're a bit too chubby for me and you're going to need a little extra time in the oven
anyway, right? You can roast now."

He walks over to you and unzips his pants just as you hear Amber
screeeeeeeaaaaaaa--​MMMMFFF.​ She has an apple crammed in her mouth and she shakes
her head, tears flowing, as the prep lady opens the oven door behind her. You can feel the
ambient heat from five feet away so you can only imagine how fucking hot it is to be ​inside​ the
thing. Amber cranes her head to look at you one last time as her pan is slid backwards into the
hot oven, then the door is shut and everything goes silent. You look back in front of you and
Principal Hillman is softly stroking himself to erection, grinning down at you. As you lie in the
pan, it suddenly dawns on you how suspiciously crotch-height the prep counters are. Your prep
lady holds your apple and steps back to give him room. He gently brushes the head of his cock
against your lips, just teasing you for a moment. "And what is your name, young lady?"

You can't really look up at him, but quietly answer. "I'm Ashley." You feel him grab hold of the
back of your head, placing the hot tip against your lips, hinting that you should open wide for
him. Once you do, he slides it past your lips and into your mouth, letting it rest on your tongue
as he sighs loudly in relief. This is oddly the most content you have ever been with someone
using your mouth, especially knowing Amber is in the oven roasting away instead of you.
"Ashley, hmm..." he says simply as he begins to hump your mouth. You are nice and snug in
your roasting pan and at a good height, so he can leisurely facefuck you while your oven tomb
glows behind you. Your prep lady stands by with the apple, but all the others have moved on to
other tasks now that the other pigs have been put on to cook. You curl your tongue and caress
his hard shaft as it plunges in and out of your throat. Just as he starts to speed up his thrusting,
he suddenly stops and pulls out, looking down at you. "And what did you want to be, Ashley?
After school, after college? What career were you looking forward to?"

"I was gonna go to college, for history or something like that. I don’t know. Become a teacher?"
you answer. His cock immediately occupies your mouth again, thrusting in and out, in and out.

He gets a good grip with one hand in your hair and uses it to thrust hard and fast into your
talented mouth. "Uhn.....uhn.....a teacher, huh? Mmmmfff, uhn....uhn.....we got enough of those.
Uhn.....uhn.....what we ​really​ need, uhn...uhn....is more good pigs like
yooooouuuuuuu....uhhnn....." he trails off and moans as he cums down your throat, slowing his
thrusting and milking himself dry, letting you clean him off with your tongue so he can quickly go
back to his busy day.

He zips up, fixes his hair, then nods to Agnes. He winks at you and says, "Have fun roasting in
there, okay kiddo?" Then he's gone, back to keep the large school running and (apparently)
occasionally face-fucking unlucky students. Your prep lady sighs, looking forward to getting you
in the oven so she can move on already. "Jesus, finally. Any last words, pig?" she asks you as
she moves the apple toward your mouth.

You finish choking down the load the principal left you with, then sputter, "I...I guess not, no..."
knowing there's no way you could buy any more time now. You simply open your mouth wide
and she crams the apple tightly into your mouth.

"Hah, looks like the other pig is already gone!" the other lady says. “What a fucking softie!”

"Just one left then," your lady comments. "Can't wait till she's dead, too. We can finally get a
damn break.” You are staring ahead quite emptily, having been thoroughly used both from the
front and back. You’re not sure how you expected your Thursday to go but this sure as fuck
wasn’t it. There’s only one thing left to do now.

Just one thing left to do, Ashley. All you have to do now is roast. You feel the blast of insane
heat as the oven door is opened behind you. Your prep lady simply grips your pan and slides it
backward from the counter onto the oven rack, then all the way back into the oven. Without a
look or a goodbye or anything, she just shuts the oven door in front of your face, leaving you to
stare out of the thick, somewhat-opaque oven window.

Oh god, ​OH FUCK​, it's so ​fucking​ ​HOT​. What did the display say again? You saw it on Amber's
oven before she went in - 425 degrees. ​FOUR-HUNDRED-FUCKING-DEGREES​ and you're
inside it. Every breath you take burns, you immediately feel like you have the worst sunburn in
the world, and sweat is pouring down your body so profusely that you can barely blink it out of
your eyes fast enough.

No more games, no more delays - this is it.

You're roasting.

You already know the way things are going to turn out from here. Even through the pain of
roasting, all you can do is think. The heat stings your skin mercilessly as you ponder what will
become of you. People will eat you today. Enjoy your meat as if it was never you, never a
person. Then you’ll be gone, some other girls will be roasted next week, and hardly anyone will
ever think about you again.

You feel weirdly calm as the heat continues to slowly kill you. You have no idea how long you’ve
been in here, just that your headache was quickly getting worse. You exhale raggedly around
the apple in your mouth as you watch the lunch ladies go about their work before leaving. Time
for their break, maybe? Then you suddenly feel very tired. Things are getting pretty blurry as
well. Maybe sweat in your eyes? Is your brain shutting down? Will anyone miss you? It’s so
hard to keep your eyes open. What are your parents going to serve for Thanksgiving now?

Then as suddenly as the pain began, there is nothing.

You won't be going home today. You won't sit down to dinner with your parents, then screw
around on your phone as you lay in bed. You won't see your friends this weekend. You won't go
to college. You won't even graduate high school. You won't vacation on a Spanish beach.
Eighteen years of life on this planet has led to this glorious moment - this browning hunk of meat
in a midwest high school cafeteria oven. On Thursday, you woke up as a human and went to
school like every other day. By Friday, you’ll no longer exist. There'll just be some gristled bones
in a dumpster behind the school.

Finally, you blink one last time and die in the oven.

Hours later, hundreds of students will line up and have cuts of meat, mashed potatoes, and corn
slapped onto their lunch trays. Each tray of meat has a student photo above it. Your friend
Susan smiles sadly at your senior photo - you leaning against a brick wall, your hair perfect,
your smile radiant - propped above a steaming tray of meat, then motions to it. "Some of her,
please," she says, and the lunch lady drops a juicy slice of your ass on her tray before grunting
"NEXT!"