[ IP ] show-off

They had told Harold that the condition was hereditary, beyond that his doctors didn ’ t have any more answers. His great grandfather had been born the same way, broken at birth and had died unceremoniously during WWI. 
 
 Despite graduating at the top of his class at West Point, and being the youngest lieutenant since the civil war, he had been eaten alive by his own troops. 
 
 When times were good and his troops won victories at Normandy and Lyon they had seen him as a brave leader. As they sat in a fox hole surrounded by the Germans, starving for nearly a week, all they saw was a man whose face was made out of bread. 
 
 
 Harold had long ago given up on trying to make sense of it, there were simply strange medical oddities from time to time, two headed snakes, people with extra limbs, and his face was made out of bread. 
 
 It looked real enough from a distance, the structure was all there, eyes and nose that functioned just like they should, the lips themselves were real skin, and the hair of his beard was the same as anybodies, though he never dared to shave with a straight razor, but his skin, his skin was like a fresh baked pita. Warm and smooth to the touch, with just enough of a papery texture and comforting yeasty aroma that let you know something just was n't quite right. 
 
 
 Growing up hadn ’ t been easy, his parents themselves had been popular in high school, had lived the life people had expected of them, they were supportive, but they could never understand what it was like. 
 
 How the kids would throw lunch meat at him at recess, the girls who would pretend to kiss him in class only to take a small bite of his cheek, then scream in disgust as they ran back to their friends. 
 
 
 “ OMG, it really is BREAD, eeewwwwwwww!!!!! ” The dare completed, and the joke on him. His lone consolation being that his bread didn ’ t scar, he often wished his heart could have been made of bread as well. 
 
 
 College was easier as it often is, he might not have been the most popular kid, but he learned to fit in. Self-deprecation became a weapon, nobody could make fun of him better than he could do it himself, so people stopped trying. He made some good friends, and left with some great memories, but he hadn ’ t so much as been kissed. His overwhelming insecurities and a lingering fear of being tricked playing no lesser part than his genetic handicap. 
 
 
 Then he met Tilly and everything changed. 
 
 
 Tilly said he was Handsome, and not the usual, “ you ’ re really handsome for a guy ’ s whose face is made out of bread, but we ’ re such great friends, why risk that. ” 
 
 NO, there were no qualifiers, no implied rejection! 
 
 He was just handsome as he was, bread and all. 
 
 
 He thought Tilly was just the most beautiful girl in the world, blonde hair and a slim figure. Some might have commented on the ears that stuck out a little too much, her slightly crooked teeth or the freckles sprinkled over her nose, but to him, they were her best features. 
 What made her unique, what made her beautiful, what made her perfect. 
 
 It was as if the happiness went up through his toes, knees, chest and out the top of his head, only to travel around the world and enter back in his toes, an endless cycle of bliss. 
 
 
 
 The problem with happiness of this magnitude is it often leads to tunnel vision, the switching off of the cerebral cortex, pure emotion taking the place of rational thought. This state rarely leads to good decisions. 
 
 
 And so it was that day. They had been together for almost a month, she thought he smelled delicious, she joked that she had a bread fetish and he was the only one who could give her a fix. She had been so many firsts for him, first date, first kiss, first love. She had also been the one who suggested they take a walk on the beach, a first he had chosen not to admit to. 
 
 He had never really understood why his parents had never taken him to the beach, they were most likely afraid the humid air would make his face soggy, or that he might fall in, the damage possibly irreversible. But he was an adult now, he wouldn ’ t fall in, his face had gotten soggy before and had always dried out. He was no longer going to let his face stand in the way of his happiness. 
 
 
 They were holding hands, talking about where they wanted to travel, all the places they ’ d never been. The cool air felt refreshing against his bread, he marveled at how big the ocean truly was, and how powerful it was when you came so close. He had suggested they walk out on the pier, he didn ’ t want this day to ever end. 
 
 
 
 Tilly smiled at the old woman, a slightly crooked tooth glinting in the strong sun, ears peeking ever so slightly from under her blonde hair. The old woman smiled back, as she tore off bits of stale bread and flung them to the waiting seagulls, Harold saw nothing but the beautiful freckles on her nose. 
 
 Tilly ’ s smile fell, her eye ’ s turned to the seagulls, their heads cocked slightly askew every last one of them now staring at Harold. 
 
 
 “ Honey, I think we should go back. ” Her voice a whisper, as if the birds could hear her. 
 
 
 It was too late, all Harold heard was the war cry of an attacking Seagull, he looked up just as it tore a piece of bread from his left cheek. Before he could react another bird took off a piece of his ear. Tilly didn ’ t even have a chance to scream before she was swallowed in the beating darkness of a thousand wings.
