Track 6 – Bittersweetheart
What am I if not just a recipe of ingredients from my parents? Am I nothing special? Is any part of me actually me? To compound my lack of identity I think I was made up all wrong; corrupted. I know I am not right; no one will want me. I am stamped with the name that declares me the best and yet I will be tossed aside and discarded as a complete and utter disappointment; such is the life I never asked for.
I look up and try to look around; it is so hot in here, and far too dark to see anything. It seems like only moments ago I was the primordial goo with not a care in the world, but I was thrown into the heat of life and forced to harden. But, that was the old me, I need to look towards the future, even if I can’t see. I need to figure out a way out of this predicament, so that I don’t crumble, which is inevitable I guess for what I am; is there any real point?
Even if I were to try an escape, what do I expect to happen? I would burst through the door that has to be more than one hundred times my weight and made of a material much more than I. I would have the time to quickly find a makeshift weapon out of whatever was discarded on the floor. I would threaten my way out with the high heel shoe I found. Completely absurd; I would be laughed at and put down. That is an even worse way to go out than what is in store for me; being eaten alive. And the eaten alive part is not even the bad part, I feel like it was what I was made for so I am prepared, the worst part is knowing that I am no good and that I will be spat out. My life is a waste and is essentially meaningless.
The others around me have no clue and not a care in the world. Do they even know what is wrong with me? Do they know what is wrong with them? They are unaware what went wrong. They may think I am a few eggs short, but they would be wrong; if that was the case I would surely fall apart and not just mentally. I am, I mean we are, missing the key piece, what makes us special; no one will be fooled.
I could launch a revolt, power in numbers right? Laughable I know; because we are going to die anyway, why not just accept my fate? There is no need to break the others of their ignorant bliss. I am right enough inside that I do not need company to join in my anguish. I know I am just being eaten away at the inside because I just want to feel the tender touch of the lips of another and know that they are going to smile forevermore. I know I am an enigma, such angst and yet soft on the interior.
Wait, there it is. The light, the blinding shine of the door. I am done; forevermore came so soon. They enter, wearing protection against the elements, or perhaps as a caution against the revolt I briefly considered; it is reassuring to know my efforts would have been in vain anyway. Ah, the cool air greets me; it is actually refreshing after what I have been through. Now the waiting game begins.
I am placed in the staging area while those resembling ravenous vultures lick at their chops until they get the go ahead to devour. They are cunning I can tell, keeping a watchful eye on the master in hopes that with a turned back they could gain a head start; but not today, the master has joined them amongst the lingering.
It felt like an eternity passed as I am waiting, but then it happened, the flag was dropped and the signal given. Grubbing hands flung out at me and caressed and obtrusively massaged me and the others; I guess testing us for the proper choice. I guess I was good enough, because I was a first round draft. I am lifted and I near an anticipating smile, knowing that I can only lead to dissatisfaction. The teeth sink in and I am introduced to pain, and now I am no longer whole; a feeling I had grown used to already.
I am pulled away and I hear the noshing and gnawing on what was once me. I hear a crunch and I know that is the sound of the culprit and my downfall; I knew I was not fully done, not like that would have helped. The master must have seen the look on the face of the consumer and she quickly fetched a tall glass full of a white liquid to hand to the free hand of my holder. The face grew from grim to glad as a healthy chug was taken; perhaps an antidote to my foul poison?
After the swig I am reintroduced to the chompers and this time a sign of pleasure graced the lips. A curl of contentment? Could this be? Me? But this cannot be true? I was created to be a disaster. I thought I was a punishment of sorts. What baker in their right mind starts creating without checking their stock? To not have semisweet chips, and to make a replacement with those on the opposite spectrum, baking blasphemy.
But alas, I am to be ultimately enjoyed and I fulfill my true destiny. I guess there are those in life that can overlook what is inside and see the big picture. My faith in life has been restored in knowing that a chocolate chip cookie with a bittersweet heart can still be enjoyed by a child.
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