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You Can Eat Now |
| Written by August Blackwood | |
| Tuesday, 22 July 2008 | |
"Everything you do is so boring," my mother said as she slammed some papers down onto the hard Oakwood kitchen table.
I remained silent. I had to. What could I say? This has started again, once again after what seemed like months. I never thought her mouth would spew out daggers like this after then.
"You have to make it interesting. Why can't you just write something normal? This is so awkward." she said.
She found them, the papers of my story, lying carelessly forgotten on the kitchen table, ready for grouching, evil eyes to prey upon. The same eyes that glittered in front of me, reading and shaking in their head. What did it matter to her? It was my life. Who cares what I write about? Last time, she discovered my profoundly gory story in my room when she went in there to vacuum while I was diligently attending school. Oh, the horror that must have appeared in her eyes. Who would have ever thought that she would think of my writing in that way? Of course, she would. Well, at least she didn't think of them as boring then. On, no, they were far from boring. They were horrific.
"Mama?" my sister, Emely, entered the room.
The distorted maternal image in front of me quickly reconstructed itself and smiled graciously at her youngest child, who happened to be on the other side of the birth order that I was. Crap, no wonder I was so twisted. But, I can't wait til Emely's dark side appears once she hits puberty. Oh, you may never know what lurks behind that innocent façade. She just can't express herself. Watch and listen, and perhaps there will be signs.
"Yes, dear?" mother said, quickly shutting out those demons that once appeared before me in her eyes.
"When's dinner?" my sister asked.
"I'll...get it ready..."
She eyed me with a sudden auric absence and lifted herself to ready the interrupting dinner.
I snatched the papers and rushed upstairs to slam my exorcising door behind me.
I could imagine my mother secretly snarling while flipping the omelets.
My stomach growled and I knew that in no time, she would call me back down there, ready to prong me with that white-hot hell mouth.
I checked my door knob to test its security. A few less pounds could be good for a change. Who needs dinner anyway? I sneered, flinging myself onto my bed and silently laughed into the drowning pillows, watered by the contrasting tears that would probably take close to fifteen minutes for me to finally notice with the darkness already stained into my system.
Such irony, the grossly twisted nature of me as an average human being. "Everything you do is so boring," I heard myself say. "I know," I said, my fleer refusing to disappear, "and so horrific."
"Emely! How could you say that!" the hallway outside sent me my mother's voice.
My, you're catching on pretty nicely, mother. I'm glad you're finally beginning to understand.
After a loud thump, I heard little feet scurrying up the stairs and a soft knock on my door. I quietly tiptoed to it, opened it, and peered down at my eleven-year old sister who stood there, smiling.
"You can eat now. Mama fainted." "Thank you."
My brothers scurried about, panicking down in the kitchen, while the two sisters, Emely and I, eleven and eighteen, walked down the steps, holding hands, and giggled all the way.
Copyright 2008 August Blackwood |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 13 August 2008 ) |
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