In the Fish Bowl

Commencement

It was five seconds, twenty  minutes, seven hours and six months back when my life started. Everything before was just one huge overpowering and unbearably protective womb of bull faeces. Living even while literally accomplishing it, felt like such an unobtainable thing; a foreign and bewildering notion.

Each passing day was wasted.

I was missing out on something I knew nothing of, just the mere fact that it was there.

"Stop that," my mother snapped from the top of the dining table. Her cropped hair seemed to stand in agitation as she sneered down at me.

I quit tapping the shaker of sugar and placed it gingerly beside my bowl. My breakfast was a sweet, snow-covered mountain of deliciousness.

Sensing her scornful eyes still directed towards me, I peered at the woman through my unconventionally heavy fringe.

"I bought you a nice jacket while I was a away in the city." Her smile was tight-lipped and unpractised. "It's fitted with little weights to prevent crinkling-" she looked me up and down, "but make of it what you will."

In defiance, I shoved a spoonful of my clearly disapproved upon food choice.

"And risk losing my shield of fat, no thank you, mother." I feigned confusion over her comment, ignoring the sting.

She scoffed. "A shield doesn't have to be quite so thick, my dear."

I fluttered my lashes innocently. "But your makeup does, right?"

A manicured hand flew to her blush infested cheek in defence. The aged female was a bobble-head dunked in a sea of cosmetics. Her body was constantly shrinking to the point I feared it would disappear altogether.

She was an ex-model but still mentally stuck on the runway.

I rose from the table, the food no longer appealing to me. Her overly smug expression halted my eager movements.  Unfortunately, you haven't won quite yet.

I glanced down at her dish and arched a brow at her. "Would you like tea with your grape, mother?" Her eyes turned to slits but she nodded anyway, unwilling to surrender.

Once in the safety of the kitchen, I did what any good daughter would. Instead of the one percent fat like she persistently demands, I graciously poured whole milk into the fancy tea cup; effectively fattening the drink. The woman was practically a skeleton, at risk of dying from starvation at any given moment. So, would this make me a hero? Yes, yes it would.

 I could feel the cold marble through the thin fabric of my socks as I ambled back to the dining room, my old shoes failing me again. Money wise, buying new ones wouldn't be a problem. Change would. It was just one hole anyway.

The whole process of adapting to something you're unfamiliar with was exhausting to me. With people, it was even worse.

"You took a while, darling. Did you mistake the slices of brown bread for cake again? Had to wash the healthy taste out of your mouth before your body realized it should be more blood than sucrose?" Her grape was diced and presented neatly on her plate. If I had been overweight, would that make this more sad? Or less? I find myself leaning towards the latter.

"Wouldn't want that to happen, now would I?"

"Look in the mirror. I'm sure you'll get your answer."

Using a mirror as a comeback. Wow, aren't I glad I got out of bed today. Imagine missing such an excellent example of the supreme creativity and innovation that now runs through my unworthy blood. I am utterly mesmerised. Good one, mom.