Bacon

He smelled like bacon, even though he was a vegan. He made an exception with bees though – they were the only animals he would eat. „Protein without pain is basically carbs“, he used to say, not without a look of judgment in his eyes. Laughing was a concept he despised because of his polyamourous lifestyle. Instead, he farted every time he saw or heard something funny, because „a true relationship anarchist does not display any kind of preferences for anyone or anything at all“. Pudding meant the world to him. He wanted to become one himself but he failed due to his slender nostrils. His mother was very embarrassed with her son, because he never walked the rat they rescued. But he was not ashamed, since it would be discriminatory towards white trash kids to walk the rat. He would rather spend his afternoons gazing at walls and at the end of the day being proud of not having pursuit immoral ideas. Nights would turn into horror stories for him. He always dreamt tragic things like becoming a lawyer or headmaster of his own school. Responsibility, to him, was a slimy frog he would not dare to penetrate. “If you act morally on a higher level than other people, you do not need to answer for anything”, he always used to say proudly while eating a sandwich made entirely of recycled lemons. He wanted me to feel like a bad person – worthless, even. I tried to impress him on several occasions but it was never good enough. I loved him more than toilet paper, so I cut it out of my household, so no bitcoin miner had to die for me to wipe my feet. He liked my new smell; it reminded him of his baby sister. His farts became even more excited until he had none left. He died three weeks after our romance started; being crushed by a whale on a clogged highway. The whale's name was Bacon.