dirty dishes

He sat on the couch, relaxed. The effects of the grass trilled through his senses, his sight retracting and the smell of smoke dancing between his fingertips. Behind him, there was a terrible grinding and gulping.

Whipping his head around, to his relief there was only the dishwasher. Its lights were twinkling in the darkened kitchen, burbling as his dirty dishes sank within it. Turning back towards his screen, the noise rose up again, louder this time and ever more awful.

He tried to ignore it, but the noise grew dreadful. Rhythmic crunching and the grinding of metal retched into his ears, pounding them with atonal pain in waves. Finally, he had enough.

Turning, it opened his mouth and screamed. There was a crunch, life resolved, one bite, that was all.