Nonsense

My face is plastered with a psychotic smile while diving headfirst from the 36th floor. Not until the scent of reality mixes with cremated pigs and orphaned chicks does the vacancy check out of my eyes.

It’s not time.

Grandmother is calling my name and it’s an invitation to a solitary gluttonous feast intended only for prisoners as a last supper. I sit up from my grandfathers side of the bed and glance to the right just as a bird flies by the barred windows.

I yell in a scratchy voice to let her know I’m coming. She loves me and I don’t have the heart to tell her I hate breakfast, especially bacon. I eat everything and ask for seconds because it makes her smile.

We learn at young ages what it means to give our power away but to a child it feels like the price of being accepted. It warms a young persons soul to feel wanted and it feeds an older persons heart to feel needed.

For both it’s a forgotten subscription left on autopay.