literature

How to smoosh a sandwich

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Literature Text

I start by finding the already half-squished loaf of bread hanging out by the pile of neglected dishes. The counter is a hideous black, tan, and white speckled mess of color and nearly impossible to tell if its dirty just from sight, so I run my fingers over the top. Seems clean enough. I put a paper towel down for good measure. It takes me a couple tries, but eventually I wrangle a clean-cut sheet from the cheap roll of thin paper.
Now construction can start.

I peel out two slices of bread and neatly line them up on the paper towel, the bottom corners of each slice touching and mirroring each other almost perfectly. I go to the fridge to get the bologna, but I find a package of ham instead. No idea how old it is, but I grab it anyway. I also find brand new bags of fresh cheese from the deli. The friends fiance must have gotten it. That's the only way we'd have new food in the house otherwise. So I take that too. I snatch the mustard out just before the door closes.

The ham goes on first, two slices at a time. I contemplate making some tea, but we ran out of teabags days ago. I could always just heat up some water but the water here tastes bad, even after its been filtered.
Next comes the cheese. Its cold and breaks apart in jagged pieces instead of a clean slice. After a minute of clawing at it I give up and arrange what little pieces I got on top of the ham, imagining it like a puzzle of sorts. It smells weird to me, the cheese. The mother says its because it isn't a cheap brand. I drench it in mustard to see if that helps.
I take the other slice of bread and firmly set it in place, making it neat and evenly lined of with the bottom half. I take a moment to admire my work.

.... does it make me a bad person if I don't want to go?

I smash my fist into the sandwich, knuckles first. The bread splits on top and a mess of mustard globs over my skin. I raise my fist and stare at the yellow splattered imprint. I bring my fist down again, pressing harder on the sandwich till the insides begin to tear and break apart.
I feel nothing.
My thoughts being to race. Eleven years ago.
I'm standing at the end of an isle, its sides lined with rows of benches and silent sounds. A decorated box sits before me on a table, a life sized wax figurine lays inside. Its wearing a similar face. I find myself angry with the figurine. I want to tear of its mask and go find the face, the real one. I want to bury my face in his arms and see his smile, reassuring me its all just a nightmare.
But I can't. My legs are shaking and I feel like I'm going to fall but I don't. I want run away, scream, anything, but I'm rooted in place by some invisible force. I vaguely remember hands on my shoulders as a new wave of tears start for the hundredth time that day.

... no. That's not going to be the last memory. Not this time.

I mind goes back, a few months ago. I spend the day making a cake, making sure each layer is just perfect, and it is. I get to the frosting and mess up with the recipe. He eats it anyway and I feel less like a failure.
Him and the other uncles are teasing me about changing my name on facebook. It makes me smile and I go along with it. He gives me a hug before they leave.

I look down at the sandwich on the counter. It sits there, as perfect as it has been since I finished making it a couple minutes ago. I decide to eat it instead of smashing it.
It tastes odd, but it could just be me. Or the ham. Or the open bag of trash I'm just now seeing. I tie it up and take it out.
I get a cup of milk to wash the sandwiches odd taste down, but the milk tastes odd too.
I go back to bed so nobody has to see me cry.

The rats flipped their box over again and look at me with begging faces through the bars. I fix it and Lucy, the oldest one, crawls into my sleeve. She's warm, so I let her.
Its been a strange week.
© 2015 - 2024 DinoRat
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Painted-Shadow's avatar
Hey, are you okay? 
If you ever need to talk I'm always happy to listen.:hug: I don't know how much help I would be but I want to make sure you are okay. I care about you and I know that venting to someone can sometimes help. I hope you're feeling okay

Its a good short story though, and conveys emotion really well