A/N: One night, I asked my friend to give me a good idea for a story, and he says, "A man falls in love with a cracker."... And this is the result of that brilliant idea. This one's for you, Treis.


The Cullen kitchen was rarely ever used as a place to eat. I mean, not many ill-tempered mountain lions or irritable grizzlies tend to roam around houses in Forks. But here I sit at the vast mahogany dining table with a small, cardboard box sitting conveniently in front of me.

I have always dreamed—figuratively, of course—about what it would be like to rely on more than animal blood for survival. As much as I treasured the feeling of warm, wet blood flowing down my throat, I can't stop myself from imagining what it would be like to enjoy eating human food. When I see Bella sitting at the minuscule kitchen table in her home eating some two-day old lasagna, I can't help but envy her. The way her jaw moves as she chews, the way her eyes light up when the taste hits her tongue, the way the delicious tastes send her into a sea of delightful reveries. I want all of that, too.

So here I sit, the box of crackers calling my name, begging me to enjoy the dry, salty brilliance they contain. And as I meticulously weigh out the pros and cons of consuming them—the way I would most likely have to choke them back up at a later time and the sheer pleasure I would get from feeling human again as I ate—I decided what I had to do. I would eat them, and as I sat back and enjoyed the scrumptious crackers, I would prove Carlisle wrong. I would show him that vampires can live without blood. I would be a revolutionary vampire. I would start a trend. I would make headlines in Vampires Weekly.

"Revolutionary vampire, Edward Cullen, proves us all wrong," the headlines would read.

As a smug smirk snuck up on my lips, I plunged my hands into the awaiting box of crackers. I heard the crackling of the plastic wrapper and I tore open the sleeve; the sound of it made my smile grow even wider. And finally, I had the highly esteemed cracker resting in the center of my palm. It's dry, crusty exterior makes the venom flow in my mouth. The flecks of salt that cover its surface make my lips yearn for its luscious flavour.

So without any further adieu, I brought the coveted snack up to my lips, pushed its crumbly goodness into my mouth, and revelled in the crunching sound it made when my teeth made contact. As the dry, salty consistency of the cracker mingled with the freely flowing venom in my mouth, a pronounced grimace appeared on my face.

The cracker which I adored soon became the bane of my existence. I forcefully spat the disgusting food from my mouth making a small pile of crumbs accumulate on Esme's finely polished, antique dining table. I made a sound of pure repulsion as I continued to force the vile tasting, poor excuse for nourishment from my mouth.

And as I continued to grimace and spit the food from my mouth, my figurative dreams were shattered. I would never become that revolutionary vampire. I would never make the prestigious headlines of Vampires Weekly, and I sure as hell would never, ever, put a soda cracker near my lips again.


A/N: I have way too much time on my hands. Treis, I hope I made you proud, my good sir. I love you.

(Btw, I wrote this over a year ago.)