Wednesday, 8 June 2011

A Cup Cake

Short story written by Nauris Nikans for the writing class


Where is she? The class is about to begin, but she is not here yet. Did she have a party with her friends yesterday and now she is asleep enjoying warm blanket that surrounds her naked body? Her eye lids tremble and forehead shrivels as she dreams about the random stuff from her childhood. Or, did she catch cold and now she coughs helplessly suffering from the inflamed throat while considering not going to the school? Oh, here she comes, late as always. She looks sleepy and her hair is messed up. I would like to embrace her in my arms and press her body close to mine. Kind of a morning hug, you know. I always have that feeling that I know her for an eternity; I know her every curve and every spot of her body. That weird sense of closeness and invisible relationship to a person. I have only one chance to try it out for real, but I am not sure if I dare. What if she is on the different page then I am, what if she reports on me to the authorities, what she if starts screaming and embarrasses me in front of the whole world, what if, what if, what if .. hell, those “what ifs” over and over again. Am I a weirdo with the twisted imagination? Nobody will be able to give me an answer, but me. So, do you want to try your faith or are you too weak to make the first move? What if … fuck, enough with the “what ifs”. Calm down and look at the white board! You know that she is in a relationship and she is not meant for you anyways.

She pulls her belongings out of the bag and gets ready for the class. Obviously she did not have time to have a breakfast because of the cupcake in front of her. That pinky little thing with the yellow icing and brown chocolate chips on the top looks so sexy, but not as sexy as her lips around it. She licks them after having a bite; red glossy demons of seduction! Is that a tease or did she do it without a hidden meaning? I wonder if she knows what she just put in her mouth. Somebody had to make that thing first. Somebody? How about a girl who hates her job from the bottom of her heart? Every day is the same, the same ugly pink cupcakes with the yellow icing that looks like a baby puke and, of course, those stupid mouse droppings on the top. She has been doing the things she does for more than seven years now and that is definitely not the thing she wanted to do in her life. According to her there are only stupid cunts in this world, people who do not see how talented she is as the artist. After graduation from the Arts Academy she could not find a job. She always wanted to sustain herself and her family from the job she liked, which was related to arts. It did not work out as planned and she gave up on her dreams. Her mother is the owner of the bakery and that is how the girl got her present job. She has never been in a good relationship with her mother, because, according to her, the mother is an authoritarian old bitch that cannot stand people that argues with her. She always knows what the best is and, in general, everything has to be her way. How can a poor soul live a normal life after that? The girl is full of hate and ignorance. The dirty apron covered with the weeks old food stains is her best friend. Few more days and it will start to stink like garbage in the hot summer day. It does not change the taste of the cupcakes anyways; so, why the hell she should worry about having a clean apron. Nobody can see her, but her mother, which is the best way to piss her mother off. Eat this, mom! I hate you and your god damned bakery!

The girl’s private life is not the best kind too. Last 5 years she gained some extra sixty pounds and, as we all know, that is the body that counts, not face. That explains why her sexual life is not colored with a skin flute, but rubber alloy. Her fat squeezes through every seam of the clothes she has on. What a horrible view to spectate. Sweat drips down off her forehead as she wipes it off with her bare hand that she uses for holding pinky cupcakes with the yellow icing and chocolate chips. Salty taste of her sweat is the chef’s special ingredient in the recipe. Salt is the must in sweets because of the kick it gives to your taste buds. At first the taste of the cupcake’s sweet creamy texture beatifies neurons in your brain and then it comes – the after taste. Salty delight of the heavenly pleasure. Do you want some more? Have a bite. Do not be shy.

Her hair and body. That is the additional story that has to be told. Sticky dark mass of oily spaghetti like formations on her head and greasy skin that smells like a city dump. She does not have to look good for anybody because she simply does not have anybody. That fancy feeling of something to die for, you know. She is a pathetic parody of the miserable existence of nobody in the world of the queens, princes, kings and rulers of the universe. Does she have somebody to die for, somebody that means world to her, somebody that embodies everything that is important in her life? The answer is NO! What can you expect from such type of person? Hands down and cry in the pillow or fight and be a warrior of one’s life? She has chosen the path of losers, one that is for the weak people without balls. Have courage to be a person you want to be, do not be afraid of falling and failing. She let herself down in the drain, flushed in the toilet like a piece of worthless shit. How can a person disrespect oneself so badly?

She thinks that everybody turned against her, nobody loves her and it totally sucks to be her. What a drag? No, not for her. For you my friend, you that have mouthfuls of her creations. You never know what’s inside of the thing you put in your mouth and you definitely do not want to know the answer.

Oh, the cupcake is gone. Luckily for the red glossy demons, their owner does not know the origins of it and I am glad for her. Damn, she looks like an angel without wings, the angel that came down to the Earth. I am an angel I am, but i don't exist, my flesh is my spirit, my soul. What you see doesn't exist; those are the lines of numbers, molecules of which things are built from. Brain constructs the image and you see what you want to see. Do you feel the pain? That is an illusion, warning. That is the time to stop and make a step back to move ahead again. I am an angel. You cannot touch me, but i can see and feel you. Gentle wind breeze runs through your hair, they are my fingers. Raindrops moisten your lips, they are my kisses. Sun rays caress your heart, which is my affection. I am your angel, think about me and i will come.

Look at her! She has a sip of the water out of the VFS plastic bottle made in China. Wait a sec .. Plastic bottle made in China??

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