My family,
my mother.
She's made dinner.
What is it?
I see a tortilla,
that's about it.
Only my eyes reach over the counter.
I'm sure there is more food there.
She tells me to sit.
I obey.
At this point I'm not sure where the rest of my family are.
It's just my mother and I,
as she sets the plate in front of me.
In my booster seat I see now,
there is only tortilla.
The lights above are bright,
they hurt my eyes.
My mother's skin almost glows.
It's not angelic, it's terrifying.
With a wide smile,
she shoves the tortilla,
down her throat.
Swallows it whole.
Ignoring my horrified expression,
she motions for me to follow.
I shake my head slowly.
She frowns.
A tear rolls down my face.
"Please..." I mutter.
She does not listen,
and I have to eat it.
Then suddenly,
I'm at school.
Seventh grade.
The half eaten bread stares at me.
My friend is talking.
I don't speak.
"Are you okay?" She asks.
Am I?
I turn my head to face her.
"Tortilla."
I whisper.
"Bread is tortilla."
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories
Short StoryLiterally just short stories I write randomly. Very strange. Kind of stupid. Lots of fun come on down.
