The Fate of the Balaclava Man

A man is striding down an eerily quiet suburban street, eagre to get home and stuff his face with the ham and pineapple pizza he has bought for dinner. He doesn't normaly like ham and pinapple but the pizza was in the reduced section of a local Tesco because it's expiry date was today, the second of February. The man ponders exactly when during the day it would expire: perhaps it was midday, in which case the pizza was already well past its best; if it was 7pm then he might just cook it in time. He tugs his balaclava downward as cold drops of rain creep through the gap between his collar. He continues thoughtfully: what is supposed to happen with food after the expiry date? Does it grow freaky, devious insects which gnaw the inside of your throat as you swallow? Surely not.

Suddenly, God appears. You might wonder how the man knew it was God but to be honest he didn't know. Even on future reflection he will never quite be able to answer that question - he simply understands that it is God who has appeared from clouds like out of focus city lights. As he pulls off his balaclava to get a better look a gravelly voice begins to speak, not from the sky but seemingly from the centre of his brain.

"Eat the pizza."

Clutching the balaclava tightly in one hand and with the other making sure to hold the pizza delicately so as not to damage its neatly laid out toppings, the man responds aloud. "What?"

"Eat the pizza." The voice is slower this time, and more insistent.

"Why?"

"Are you not hungry?"

"Sort of, but..."

"Then why resist? Eeeaaat thuuuh piiizzuuuh."

"Well, ok God, I guess you know what's best."

Dropping his balaclava on the floor the man quickly tears open the cardboard packaging and tosses it away, not even caring that this street has an on-the-spot £80 fine for littering. He hesistates for a moment because surely an uncooked pizza can't be hygenic, but he's soon slopping tomato sauce and squares of ham over his hands as wedges of pizza are crammed down his gullet. He eats until it's all gone, until he isn't able to stand anymore, until he slips trying to rest on a garden wall and dislodges a vertebrae.

Soon the light withdraws and as night progresses the storm worsens. Laying on his back several metres from the final lamp post, unable to move, the man manages to gradually claw his balaclava back to him. It doesn't help, however, and by 5am the man has vomited, passed out and died of hypothermia. When paramedics recover his body several hours later they paw over his body where in his hand is clutched a small piece of cardboard that reads: "BEST BEFORE 02/02/09".