The Flat Man

I flopped down from the sofa and dragged my bottom across the carpet. Right by the table leg lay an open glossy magazine. On the page was a picture of a man smiling with big white teeth. He looked edible. I opened my jaw wide and slammed down onto his printed face. Chomp! There was no meat, only cold, slippery paper and the bitter taste of ink. I chewed for a second before letting go. Now the paper is all crinkled and damp, and my mouth smells like a newspaper.