Thursday 20 October 2016

#168 The Hustle

"Have some more shrimp" the host said carelessly, dumping another ladleful on my plate. Did I even like seafood? I wasn't sure. Did anyone know the answer to that question?

The clock ticked on. I had some awareness that the time was passing as I sat there, shovelling mounds of the stuff into my mouth because I felt like it was expected of me. Getting some of it on my shirt and the floor. I'd be scolded later for my inefficient and untidy dining style as well as for not eating enough shrimp. I always felt full.

The sky outside grew darker, at least I imagined it had. I wasn't about to go to the window to check. In the pauses between courses, I told myself that I needed to rest, mentally as well as physically. Most of my friends had left the party. I hated the darkness. Who knew what was out there?

I continued to pretend to enjoy my food as best I could. I'd put on a little performace which involved staring blankly in disillusionment at the host when they asked if everything was ok. It had stopped being believable long ago of course but social etiquette, or rather their understanding of the extent to which it was safest and easiest not to make a fuss, dictatated that they remain silent.

"The host might throw me out eventually" I thought to myself for the millionth time. In the darkness, would I find my way home? Did I even have one?

1 comment

Running on empty said...

I'm intrigued as to the location of the repast. Someone with a lot of food.