Nightmare Thoughts
Favorite Food
"Do you want to eat?" She asks me this often.
I do. I'm always hungry. And I wish I wasn't.
One day, I had asked what my favorite food was. My sister, Eunie, subsequently made a sad smile. It was clear she was disheartened at my supposed, temporary memory loss. She began to work in the kitchen busily. Eagerly.
My favorite food was a bowl of warm, slow cooked, beef bone soup filled with vegetables, spices, and homemade sausage. This was usually paired with a freshly baked loaf of bread. It took time to make, but it was my favorite because of the memories of making it together. Together with a family.
My family. His family.
I marveled at her work. It seemed she honed the recipe into her own. The determined look in her eyes implied that she was preparing for this for a long time. She told me that the recipe was rather unusual, based off of our father's meals during his travels. It was simply a hearty mix of whatever was on hand.
It was delicious. It was a shame.
I shouldn't be eating this. This was his favorite. And now it was mine. I kept eating and eating.
And eating.
And eating.
I couldn't stop eating.
Why didn't I stop eating?
It was delicious like his dreams.
I nearly cried into this empty bowl.
I should have stopped eating.