I felt a guilt as their voices continued to raise, the orange curry spilling into my plate. It reminded me of an overripe sunset, a dying sun setting. Ignoring the thoughts playing in my head, biting back the remarks that remained buried somewhere, remarks I knew better than to voice. ('neither's right'-- yet here we are).
It was far too diluted, water poured into it to stretch it for longer, its essence adulterated. I stared at it, scrutinizing the injustice done to it, skepticism clouding my appetite. Probably didn't taste as good. But as the spoon hovered near my lips, i reminded myself, whatever happens, it's still curry— ...it's still my favorite. (The clamor around me intensified... 'They keep going at it back and forth').
The first taste was an explosion of familiar flavors, bursting forth so colorful and vivid, that familiar warmth coursed through my system like an old embrace. It seemed just as strong as I remembered- ('They're getting agitated...') -until it wasn't.
The spices surged and tore through the roof of my mouth, a burning, fiery cascade rendering my tongue numb. ice cold water ran down my gullet and soothed my lips. A very fleeting solace. my throat continued to burn, the chilled consolation doing little to quell it, heat coiling tighter at the back.
(Another frustrated sigh, a chair pushed back in haste and a plate left unfinished amid harsh words).
As i sat alone on the table, suddenly, what was once a vibrant symphony, so flavorful turned more bland with each bite. (it didn't help this dull curry was why —)
No. I thought it wasn't noticeable before, but just because it wasn't visible didn't mean it wasn't there. It was diluted; give it a bit and the water made its presence known, sapping the richness that cradled the spices, until it morphed and melded into an onslaught that tore up my throat.
'Trying to make it last longer didn't seem worth it... i didn't understand why they insisted on stretching it for longer...' I pondered at the rather redundant and otherwise unavailing question. I knew the damn answer.
(Its more complicated than that)
The whir of the fan faded, replaced by the heat still lingering in my mouth. I scoffed almost bitterly, guilt settling deeper and anchoring at the bottom of my stomach, 'leave it to me to make the damn curry a metaphor.'
☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴☴
A/N: {{consider this a warm-up, a word dump if you will. I do wanna write more though so please feel free (im holding you at gunpoint) to give prompts.
That said, any tips for writing?}}
YOU ARE READING
kopfkino
De Todo(n.) (german) the act of playing out an entire scenario in your mind. Or; headcinema. → {shitposting only instead its shitwriting. consider it all miscellaneous random warmups from my part}
