Cheese and Cake (short story)

The cake is a trick, and this she knows.

It is a camouflage; a deceiver; an invisibility cloak without the friendly fictitious world attached at the seams. It is a cover ID; an illusion. Friendly fire! BAMBAMBAM! Bullet in the brainpan, bullet in the body, bullet in the bones.

The cake is a trick, a trap, and this she knows. Beneath the tempting layers, the temptation layers, the cream the icing the soft spongy essence of cake--one bite just one bite then one more then the whole cake please in my mouth and chew and chew and oh god--there is a punishment.

The invisible rope, attached to the Halloween candy bag. And when she gives in; when she bites and pulls, all comes crashing down.

And smothers her. All of herself.

It is not a warm blanket because it unnecessary. It is unwanted and it will not be tolerated. She pinches the flesh of her arms, stomach, and legs and feelings not a roiling disgust, but the sense of a ruthless parent.

Bad child! Bad child! No dinner for you, straight to your room to work off those worthless pounds!

She is an artist. She is a statue carved from marble and a figurine formed from clay. Hunger is her chisel, and she uses it wisely, clearing away the unwanted lumps and pieces. She is a masterpiece.

A Mona Lisa.

A Starry Night.

Venus.

She is thin and delicate and perfect; formed from blown glass, bits at a time.

But the cake--the oh-so-temping--I'm here I'm here just one bite one scrap one lick of the frosting pleasepleaseplease--is a trick, a trap; a manifestation of all things relentless and cruelly kind. It longs to mystify and entrance.

Luckily, she is a magician. Watch her tricks, little children, watch closely and maybe you'll see her secret!

One whole, two halves, three pieces, four quarters; so on, so forth. Knowledge is her spell, and the rabbit in her hat is oh-so cleverly disguised. You see the illusion, oh so clear oh so there, on her plate.

One.

Two.

Three.

--wave your wand little children and watch watch watch now one two three abracadabra nothing left to see no little Tommy stay away from the napkin!--

She wipes her lips daintily, eyes lowered demurely, smile hidden gracefully. Astound! Amaze! Enrapture! Entice!

Her audience applauds respectfully, snickers all around. She is a star; the final act, the best for last!

And then man comes around, fury and righteousness sharp in his eagle eye. His hand wraps around her bicep; a manacle two sizes too big for her bird

--sing little nightingale sing sweet and crash crash crash against the window pane--

bones. Her eyes are wide and fearful as he drags her down the off-white corridors. She is a failure; her tricks amateurish. Her audience laughs, mocking mocking mocking the little mockingbird.

The room is titled suitably:

SOLITARY

In the stadium, a viewer is unsure. Her face is pale and confused, her cheekbones gaunt, and her ribcage is a set of sharply jutting stairs. A crevasse where her heart resides down the middle. She leans to another partaker, feasting on her cheesecake with healthy glowing skin.

Why did he take her away? Is the show over?

She shrugs, cutting off another large slice.

The orderlies don't believe in magic.

She is a statue; a figurine created of flawless marble and blown glass.

The man assures her that, one day, she will break.

The cake is a trick, and this she knows. She will not fall under its spell.