She spied in the colourful confectioner’s store. In the middle of the crisp window display, a standalone muffin sitting in a pretty polka dot case. It stood lean and tall, shoulders above the rest of the store tarts and pies, even though it was more than 3 inches high with an expanding rotund waist. “Just Like me,” she thought.
She was besotted with the beautifully obscene muffin. She kept flitting between her own mirrored second person in the window, directing to and fro glances of mischief towards her…SELF and the dessert. The window’s unrequited transparency encased her gangly demure figure through its fine reflection even if she was swallowed by her bulbous burnt orange bouclé coat. She wore a pink beret, poised on the side of her head.
The muffin and her reflection seemed as one representing the jamminess inside the enveloped coat. She rushed inside and excitedly pointed at it to the server. The muffin rested graphically in a 5 by 7 inch black and white box, protected by a graceful bow. Hesitant, aiming to leave the store, instead she sat randomly at a round table ignoring whether it was occupied and opened the box in disgraceful madness. Nothing else mattered. Her off white central incisors punctured the muffin, exuding a surprising fresh whipped cream from its core. It was pure. This was a once in a lifetime. A sight to behold, just like her. But she didn’t pay her beauty no mind. She stopped being important.
The Headmaster sat open gazed at the demolishing of the beauty eating the beauty. His heart softened at this sight, witnessing a glimpse of her carnivorous revealing after five years. She paused and stared to see the Headmaster. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t read his eyes. He couldn’t determine whether in his raging acrimonious heart was to arrow utterance to proceed from his mouth. A though tis a thought. Good or bad. There is no in between. The heart is wicked. “You are ugly and fat,” he blurted in his conscious morality.
His face remained stoic but he too had drifted away throughout this intangible interaction. He pictured himself standing in front of a mirror yelling these words. Aggressively so, his saliva stained the partially misted window. Back to view, the Headmaster slid from his seat and sat next to the model, dipped his finger in the centre of the muffin and the fluffy thickness of the cream attached to his index finger as he pulled it away. He savored both the cream and his finger.
“Hello Dahling, I thought you weren’t hungry. She gazed lovingly into her partner’s weary eyes. She delicately ate the rest of the muffin, put on her coat and these two real persons walked out into the winter’s evening arm in arm.
The End.
By Sarah Louise Brown