Legless

The legless gingerbread man rests uncertainly on the plate as he awaits his fate of total annihilation at the mouth of the lady with the camera. She dallies with him cruelly while choosing the image of his final moments.

She has already immersed his legs in boiling tea to simplify removing them, and he knows that worse is to come.
He has offered himself up to the taste buds of her Ladyship and there will be no clemency asked or given.

Why, he asks himself, could she not have chosen the inanimate rocky road cake which sits on the adjoining plate of His Lordship. There is no point in telling him about the biochemistry of energy intake and output, and the early visit to the land of exercise torture which she has endured in order to exact her sweet revenge on his body.

And so RIP, dear gingerbread man, you served your Ladyship well. You have slipped away to a better place, but will forever be remembered on the airwaves and in journals across the land.