He grasped his wet and slippy tongue between thumb and index finger and pulled.
The blade sat quietly on the pine table in front of him.
He could see his reflection shining up at him.
It looked a silly scene, but
His eyes stared dully, life-lost, back up at him.
He could feel the tongue drying as he lifted the chef’s knife and
Without another thought
Sliced through the thick, annoying jelly.
Now maybe all my troubles would end, he thought,
Before collapsing with a thud against the newly stained wood.
Consciousness evaporating in a sea of bitter pain.