Although they try to hide, their bright orange exoskeleton gives them away, even among their brightly coloured companions. I hear them silently damn the obnoxious cat for giving their position away. I grab their packaging and rip it mercilessly open.
There they are.
Their processed tang, their addicting musk drifts up to my nose, passing through my olfactory epithelium, and resting my tongue, drawing me unstoppably further.
I pick one up. The tangy smell is accompanied by a smell of fear, but this is no deterrent from my appitite. I drop it in my mouth.
Screams of relentless pain translate in my ears to a satisfying crunch; the heavenly smell, a flavour like no other. I crave, intensely, for more. And I eat, until they are no more. My stomach is content, yet my tongue still wants more.
And flavour? That thing which so fulfills the taste, the true craving? It remians, in its purest form. The blood of my delicious victims still sticks to my fingers. I greedly lick it all, like a starved anteater, until I have licked it all. It is finished, and I am satisfied.