narrative

• The final person sits down on our creaky dining room table. The groan of the oak chair cascades throughout the room, reflecting off every surface. Silence begins to pervade my surroundings, the lull of the clock is faintly noticeable in the dingy atmosphere whilst my raspy, strangled breathing becomes apparent.
• The clitter clatter of cutlery is like a million glasses smashing, it sends me into a state of anxiety, my heartrate begins pounding like impending doom, the sickness in my stomach feels like an ancient miser, like Scrooge, has reawakened a void within me. The familiar but catastrophic odour begins to engulf my nostrils, its sickening smell suffocates me, drowning out my senses leaving me with a nauseating, increasingly worsening impression of tonight’s dinner.
• The timeless, exquisite design that is engraved onto my dish does not act as a deterrent to the atrocities that I gaze at before me, almost a hindrance to the insanities I am yet to uncover. A sea of limp, lifeless chicken floats, isolated, longing to leave its solitary place to fulfil its quest to intoxicate and poison my growling intestines. At the mere sight of the rubber and its unnatural shimmer in the dusky evening, my appetite begins to shrivel.
• Surrounding the forgotten chicken is a bellowing river of feverishly red curry sauce, a sauce that drowns myriads of circular green objects that have a likeness to a dung beetle from the depths of the Amazon rainforest. A wave of spice- flavoured remorse curls into the air.
• Swimming in the river of oily constellations are heaps upon heaps of saturated, neglected vegetables clinging onto each other (as if they are as petrified as I am.) The rice, it seems, has become ambushed by a soggy warrior and has been left in a bittersweet disappointment, similar to the fading echo of my desire to escape the gnarly grasps of these melancholy pieces of food.
• Muffled noises begin to reach my ear drums, pounding and pounding at me, almost as if they want crimson blood to ooze and trickle down the curvature of my face. I begin to finally make out what the obscure language is repeating. ‘Is everything okay?’ My body stiffens as panic erodes my whole entire disposition. My sweat glands go into overdrive as I feel a subtle trickle cling to my skin as it carves uneven paths on my pulsing brow.
• The air becomes thick with heat and the stench of my looming anguish. I strain my head into a nod (or what could be depicted as a small seizure in my neck) and tentatively raise my fork, its icy steel becoming slippery in my damp palms, forcing me to grip firmly, against all my will. My fork moves closer to my mouth, my hands quivering with trepidation, begging for mercy to end their plight of coercion.
• I hesitate right outside my lips as another noise creates a distraction from the emotional turmoil my body has become a victim to. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’.  The oppressive silence that follows that question has more of an unsettling impact on my family, creating an uneasy, claustrophobic kind of quiet.
• Every single eye darts towards me, causing me to become the centre of attention, almost like a circus ringmaster without the glory or bliss. All cutlery stops and crashes down onto everyone’s plates creating a circus roar like a formidable hairy beast. I let out a nervous laugh, yet it sounds like an involuntary squeak or even a strangled yell that hauntingly lingers for a time then seems to coil in the room like smoke. I have to do it.
• With every bit of might within me I continually force forkfuls into my mouth like a ravenous mule. Trying to psyche myself up to encourage it down my food canal, I eventually swallow it. Instant heat permeates my lungs as if I have been captured by fiery Satan in the perilous realms of hell. I bolt up and run like I am on a predatory mission to the fridge, ripping the cap off the new milk bottle and guzzling it down my oesophagus.
• The cool trickle calms me into a sense of serenity and peace, yet it begins to encroach down my chin. Eyes gaze upon me like a million diamonds glistening in a cave, watching and waiting with a formidable intensity. 
• Time stretches before me like an elasticated band, volatile and ready to be released. Laughter erupts around me like an exploding mine, a devious smirk approaches my face after a moment of utter bewilderment. Warm and satisfying, relief floods into my pulsing veins and settles right in the void of melancholic fear I felt in my stomach only a few moments ago.
• ‘You can have something else if you want?!’ Those simple but soothing words instantly fill me with a joy and relief that makes my heart sing, with a sound that to me seems similar to the songbirds outside, blissfully tweeting away in the sunset of the fine, summer evening.