Published on: 2024-03-28
Description: A Brief Literary Piece
Written by: Fadi Atieh
It was the first day. It was the last day. There were six of them, not the same six that used to be. The table was the same old one, brown solid wood with rough edges, and smelled like old age.
Supper is ready, soup whose warmth is worthy of covering the insides of my body with a blanket shielding me from the coldness of the snowstorm outside.
This is not a time for comfort. Food is energy, and it’s calories. The soup is warm and delicious - yes - but it is not for me to enjoy, appreciate, and taste. I devour and go; leave and look forward only.
I hope I find him in good health. And when I do, I’ll hug him and kiss him and cry. I’ll tell him that I love him. And I’ll smoke with him that one cigarette that never ends from dusk until dawn under the pink wavy sheets of the Antarctic.