I walked at a casual pace to the cupboard and pulled the small dark brown cupboard door towards me. Silence. I reached for what looked like a plain white plate with my other hand. My hand turned into a crocodile’s mouth as it snatched the flat saucer from the cupboard.
The quite plate had a delicate pattern of flowers and little brown rabbits eating some bright green grass around the rim. I pushed the cupboard door away from me with my free hand. Silence again. I walked back to my work place. I settled the plate down next to the untouched loaf of bread. I picked up the knife that I had used previously to cut off the dressing on top of the margarine. I stabbed it into the end of the loaf. A little bit of the coating flaked off like snow onto the table. I eased the scalpel vertically all the way through. I was half way through cutting the loaf and my method of cutting wasen't being successful. I brought the knife back up to me, carefully. I lay the knife horizontally on the loaf of now, not so pretty bread. It hit the point inside the bread where I left off. I manouvered the knife backwards and forwards. The bread was noisy. It complained with pain by making loud grinding noises. Very irritating. The annoying ordeal was finally over. The slice of bread was finally seperated from the rest of its body. I picked up the bread and placed it on my bunny plate.
How imperfect. The slice of bread was ruined. The edges were all jagged. The sides were uneven. They were sloping to one side. But the inside was beautiful. Pure soft white, it did have a few specks of brown though. It looked so delicious!
I wrapped the rest of the loaf into the dilapidated piece of transparent plastic, that was once killing it earlier but is now being used to help it from the going stale. I reached for the knife once again to carry on trying to reach the overall delightful taste of my piece of bread. The knife is not as shiny anymore. The crumbs from the bread are spread all over the knife: from the top of the blade to the end of the bottom of the handle. The knife handle was uncomfortable. The crumbs almost saturated into my hand. With my free hand I held the margarine and slowly spread the knife right through it like it was running away from one side of the brick to the next.
The knife lay against the square of soft white bread. It slowly expanded its territory, marking it with this long trail of yellow substance. The substance is softer than playdough but thicker than a liquid. Soon the dagger has marked the entire square. I placed the blade back onto the kitchen table, which now was quite messy. I looked at my hand that had held the knife. the bread crumbs stuck to my hand, I rubbed my hands together to get rid of them. It looked as if my hands had dandruff, a little stream of white crumbs leaked from between my hands. I seperated my hands and my right hand (which was holding the culprate that had the crumbs which were attempting to attache themselves to my hand) had what looked like little red holes imprinted in it.
I looked at my square piece of bread. It would not be long until I will be able to give into my temptation of eating the mouth-watering piece of food. The hunger pains struck my body again, like a knife had just been stabbed into my stomach. The pain was excrutiating. The only treatment for it was food.
I opened the short, fat wooden door above my head. Darkness suffocated it. I could hardly see anything that was being held hostage. Unfortunately I could only save one prisoner, actually no. I changed my mind, I would save two. I pushed my body up with my toes like a ballerina. One arm balancing my body on the table, the other was extending as far as it could go. Success. I held something in my hand. I relaxed my delicate petite toes on the ground as I went to open my jar that would satisfy my hunger. I held the silver circle that had scraps and lines of black on it that had disentegrated over the time it had been in there. My right hand lurched down on it, strangalling it. I gripped the lower sphere with my left hand, it was cool to touch. I twisted both my hands opposite ways. My miniature muscles tensed up as they tried to release the contents of the urn. I let out a small sigh and relaxed. But seconds later I had my second attempt. ‘Pop!’ The lid had separated itself from the life of the ordinary. I had exposed it to a new sight.
I peered inside. The sight of the contents was not a pleasant one. Looking back at me was green and fluffy. The content, which I had just been informed, was applesauce has transistioned itself into a jar of mould. The smell suddenly attacks me. I cough gasping for air that would not be so that peutrid. I retched. It smelt like a dead animal that had been suffocated in my brother’s old gym socks that had been used repeatidly but never washed. I slammed the lid on it as fast as I could, and threw it into the bin. Thankfully it landed swiftly into the rubbish holder.
I resentfully attempted to find the jars that I wanted. Being more careful and slow I repeated the actions. My tip toes wobbled more than they did before; I was still recovering from the awful incident with the last jar. My arm stretched, I grasped a new jar. I brought it to my face so I could inspect it more. It still had the label on it. ‘100% Real Jam!’ I stabbed the knife that I had been using between the lid and the mini jug. ‘POP!’ louder this time the lid eases off. I hesitate to look in. I lean my head forwards and open my eyes. A flat red surface with black speckles. I breathe in. Strawberries!
I pierce the smooth surface with the knife and twist it. I curved hill of strawberry jam lay on my knife. The knife looked as if it was sliding across the buttered bread. The blood was left shadowing the knife along the bread. I dropped the knife on the table. I was happy, I jumped in the air and sporadicaly chose another jar. I opened it; it opened with effortlessness. Marmalade. I jumped up and rapidly placed it on the shelf. I repeated the procedure. My head felt weightless. I grabbed another jar. This was a very large blue plastic jar. I opened it easily again. Peanut butter. Perfect. I pushed the knife into the jar and tilted it up and pulled the light brown that was on the verge of being pale orange away from the rest of its population. It spreads a little harder this time. It expands unevenly, but I didn’t care. I let the dagger fall from my hand onto the work surface.
I picked up my piece of artwork. What was originally just white and had light brown around the rim. Now it’s multicoloured.
I bit into it. I could taste the satisfaction. The peanut butter made it stick to the top of my mouth. It tasted sweet but also savoury. I took bite after bite. Devouring slowly my treatment for the stabbing pains in my stomach. I finally took the very last mouthful. My tongue locked with the top of my mouth once again. It was delicious!
Maddy Hull 10S
