Dinner – 2

Despite the nocturnal promise, the morning proceeded to arrive with the sun crawling out of the horizon. Its lack in the night finds reflection within the cold air which poured inside the room. With the windows left open overnight, the kitchen seems to be dripping with dew and overflowing with haze. It is a melancholic sight which harmonizes with her mood as she steps inside the kitchen. Some birds scream out from the bare branches on which they have made their stay. Their sounds however are far away from her for only faint echoes resonate through the monotone walls. Continuing her routine, her iron-filled legs keep carrying her with heavy steps towards the drawer. Made of wooden shelves, it is still cold to the touch due to the rectangular metal handles with sharp edges. She pulls at the menacing handle and with a nearly vulgar metallic clatter the kitchen utensils are exposed to the morning light.

Having done this so many (too many) times before, her hands still shake at the prospect. Undefined droplets fall from her face onto the quadratic tiles. She herself is unsure about the nature of these droplets, the possibilities ranging from corporal fluids like tears or sweat to the precipitation which resulted through the cold morning weather. Determined she forces her unsure hand to do her strange bidding.

With the words “This is all for my own sake” on her lips, her eyelids stretch away from the iris which, uncompromising in its nature, flies around the eyeball in a feeble attempt to escape. The duration was wholly on her, a needless need for anticipation powered by a constant unrest. Finally, the pointed tip of the instrument touches the whites of her eyes. Adjusting the trajectory, she plunges it with a squelching sound. Disregarding the pain, she experimentally moves it around the soft, butter-like gray matter, cutting through it. 

Suddenly, great annoyance washes over her. Having repeated the procedure daily without any tangible effect she continues to grow more and more agitated. As something almost audibly snaps within her, her previously unconscious hands dive through the extremely stretched eye socket. Unwavering, they search for the nagging part. Assuming that it was indeed found, it is plucked out in a brief and abrupt motion. 

A sharp exhale tries to leave her lungs as her remaining eye fixates on the gooey pile on the wooden kitchen table, which complemented the wooden material of the drawer. She can feel the other eye dangling loosely on the stretched tissue. The droplets on the previously perfectly clean white tiles shift to a rosy tone. Softly she feels her knees caving in and, barely supporting her weight with her hands, she slides to the ground.