Rehnuma

4. Pineapples

I've never really liked the social gatherings my parents forced me to. Pretentious people. Terrible, bitchy attitude in almost every other person. Awful music taste. 

People should hire me to make them Playlists for these events. Fuck hiring, at this point, I'll do it for free as community service. I walk up the two steps and enter the gallery. Another event my parents have forced me to. My whole family is here and we leave each other to our own ventures the second we enter. 

I've attended galas, business parties, birthdays, anniversaries and what not. This time, it's an art exhibition. Definitely more interesting than any other event I've ever attended. The music isn't as terrible as I expected it to be, but it could be better. Waiters move around the area, carrying flutes of champagne around. 

I look around for a food stall. My relationship with food is great. I can eat anytime, anywhere. I don't expect a food stall to be here since this is an art gallery but I am fairly happy to find one. 

It has a variety of things, croissants, cupcakes, fruits- ooh, pineapples. I fill my plate with pineapples and stuff them into my mouth. I haven't had anything since morning and now I'll die if I don't eat. A girl from the other end of the table stares at me in disgust. 

What the fuck is there to be disgusted about? I am just eating. Everyone does that. What does she do? Inhale food? I've finished half the plate when someone snatches it out of my hands. My mother glares.

"What the hell are you doing? It looks like we don't feed you at home."

"Weall I havnt eeten snce mor-"

"Eat first then talk. God! What the hell am I going to do with you?" I chew, very slowly to irk her and then when I am done, I give her a smile that drips with pettiness. "Sorry mom. I'll be on my best behavior. Will you give me a candy when we get home?" She glares again.

Urgh, her glares have lost their charm.

"This is an important event. Your in laws are here. The least you can do is behave." It's not like I am going to pretend to be extra nice infront of them. They've met me before and heard of me enough to know the kind of person I am. I turn to go away from my mother after picking one last piece of pineapple from my plate. I love that fruit. So much. 

I look around. The paintings are nice. A little too dark. The artist isn't fond of many colors I guess. The maximum number of color on a canvas is three. I look around and survey every painting. They are all dark, with not many colors. The one infront of me is that of a butterfly, with the wings on one side shattering like glass, falling away. It's a black canvas with only white and dark green used in the painting. 

I don't know much about psychology but my eldest brother sure does. And I've heard enough from him. These paintings are a reflection of the artist's mind, which shows trouble. Danger. Trauma. Or something like that, I am not an expert. The darkness lurking into the mind of this person, danger underlining every stroke. I move ahead. Leaving the paintings to stare at one of the two sculptures in here.