Cannibal

The trip to Grandmother's took two hours. During that time, we passed through the outer ring of the center of the city. This held the middle class citizens who are the labor force of this grand city. Their diets were very similar to mine, involving nuts, vegetables, grains and fruit. Everything but that dreadful meat. Sometimes I imagine myself running away and joining them, but my bright blond hair and wardrobe would easily point me out as a slab of meat amongst a field of lettuce.

As we left that outer ring, the center showed: the food source. I couldn't turn my gaze away from the city that was falling apart. All the buildings were in desparate need for repairs. The people looked wild and vicious. They had torn clothing on, walking around with suspicious glances thrown over their shoulders constantly. While we drove past, they would look at the limo, sending daggers through the window directly at me. I know it was hard to see past the dark tint the windows did have, but each glare pierced my heart. It looked like such a dirty place. I felt a tear roll down my face. I felt empathy for them. They were all just a herd of walking meat, with thoughts and emotions. They had families and friends.

By the time we left the center I couldn't hide the tears from my family, who all joined me for the ride so they could briefly visit with Grandmother.

"Ophelia, are you crying?" my mother sneered after I sniffed so I wouldn't have anything drip out of my nose.

"No Mother. My allergies are acting up," I said and wiped my eyes. I did have allergies, but it wasn't even spring. It was the middle of summer where no plants were in bloom. Even with this obvious information, my mother believed me.

"Well you better fix yourself. We must always look presentable in public." She flipped her matching blond hair over her shoulder and looked out of the window, giving dirty looks to the pedestrians of the middle class. I just looked at my mother with slight disgust before returning my gaze to the window, watching the smiles form on pedestrian faces as they conversed with each other. I don't understand why they can talk together and enjoy it while I dread talking to anyone in my family.

We arrived at Grandmother's with frowns on all our faces. Mine was mostly because I was dreading it, even though I have no idea how Grandmother will act with me. Also I was extremely nervous.

One of her workmen answered the door, leading us through the huge house to where she was sipping tea on her back porch.

"Hello Mother," Father said, smiling and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hello Son. Bethany," she said, nodding at Mother. She did this little noise and looked away, being difficult as always. "Hunter, come give Grandmother a kiss on the cheek." Hunter did as he was told. "Ophelia, come here. Sit with me," she told me. I gulped and sat in the other chair opposite of her. "Not eating meat? Well I'll fix that. Jason!" A man dressed in the usual workman attire came out silently and stood beside her. "Please get the chef to prepare a lovely meal for my son and his family. I'm thinking of a lovely roast with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Quickly, now." He nodded and walked off to fulfill her wishes. "How about you all allow Ophelia and I to have a little chat. You may be in the front room. We will be there in just a minute," she told the rest of my family. Father nodded and they all left.

I stared out in her backyard, admiring the beautifully trimmed and decorated garden. I could see some middle class citizens working on it, maintaining its marvelous appeal.

"Why don't you eat meat, Ophelia? Is it because it doesn't taste good, or is it because it doesn't look edible to you?" Grandmother asked me, dragging my eyes back to her face. I know she has had surgeries before to maintain a youthful look. The surgeon has done an excellent job to make it look natural, but everyone still knows about it. It's not hard to know why someone would purposely avoid all contact with everyone due to recovery from a surgery, even if it is only a day or two of recuperating.

"I just don't eat the meat," I told her simply. I know if I tell people it's wrong, they would accuse me of denying God's will and command and how I might actually be affiliated with Satan.

"Are you trying to rebel against your parents in some teenage angst? Do you not like the fact your father spends so much time working at his job? Or is it because you just want to anger your mother?" she asked me. I gave her an incredilous look. "I totally understand why you would. Your mother is such a terrible person."

"Why do you think my mother is a terrible person?" I asked her. I agree with her, to a certain extent. She isn't the most lovely, caring mother out there.

"She is such a bitch, and she doesn't even try to hide it. She uses my son all the time. That greedy diamond encrusted whore!" she said, surprising me with her language. "My son was manipulated by her. I wanted him to marry Cynthia Moore, but that she devil persuaded him to join her side!"

I sat there in silence as my grandmother calmed down from her fit of sudden rage.

"Promise not to speak a word about this to your mother?" she asked me. I nodded. "Good. How is your relationship with her anyways?"

"She tells me to look presentable when I'm not. That's all she talks about, oh, and how I'm the worse daughter in the world since I don't eat meat." Grandmother smiled, laughing quietly to herself. She scares me a lot already, even though we are talking about something we had in common.

"Let's go." We both stood up and headed to the front room. I sat on the chair that was furthest away from everyone, looking around the room to see many original paintings of beautiful people in expensive clothing, having either a bible in their hands or some type of sculpture made of gems and diamonds.

Father started telling Grandmother his ultimate strategy of getting the people of the city (those who can vote) to reelect him this year for mayor. I zoned out. I have already heard this a million times at the dinner table.

Supper was ready much later, and their conversation dragged itself along with us moving to the dining room. I took one look at the roast before me and ate the asparagus and mashed potatoes. They were delicious.

"Ophelia, it is quite rude to not eat the roast that the chef worked hard at preparing for you," Mother told me. I just mumbled an apology but still didn't eat it.

"Don't worry Bethany, Mother will fix this problem," Father said, stabbing another spear into my heart. Another set of tears were threating to spill out of my eyes. I blinked my eyes multiple times to try and prevent any of it to fall out. One tear did, but I quickly wiped it away. No one noticed and that relieved me.



After my family left, Grandmother had Jason escort me to my temporary room. It was about the same size as my room back home. After Jason closed the door, allowing me privacy, I collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

My family just left without a word. No goodbyes. No I'll miss you. Just gone, leaving me behind like I wasn't important to them or anything.

I started developing a headache from sobbing so hard. It was exhausting and I found myself growing very tired. I crawled into the cozy bed, squeezing a pillow hard as I cried into it. My makeup was smearing all over it, but I didn't care. I don't clean the pillow covers, nor do I do any work. I was just the reject daughter of the mayor of New York City.

I didn't have any importance in this world. No purpose. I was just there when I needed to be there, and when I was needed, I had to pretend like I was some pretty, rich girl who kept her mouth shut unless she was spoken to. I had to be a follower, doing what others told me to do. I didn't even feel like a person, just an empty shell.

So why am I crying so hard when this sudden realization hit me? Why do I feel so terribly horrible and hopeless? Why do I have thoughts that death would be better than this? I wouldn't even know how to kill myself.

I could just starve to death, but that idea was quickly pushed away. That would be too painful and awful to bare. Plus, I don't even know if I could bring myself to do anything to kill myself. It would also look bad for my father, who might actually lie about my death to have people vote for him because of the way they would pity him. He would practically do anything to gain the people's support. He loves having power over everyone.

I suddenly felt anger, feeling hatred for my family. I felt more awake now, throwing the filthy pillow across the room. I stood up and started ripping the picture frames of flowers and delicate, innocent things and throwing them on the floor, not even slightly concerned of the possibility of being injured by the glass on the floor. The next thing that was destroyed was all the little sculptures on the dressers and tables. They ended up broken and on the floor. My hands were controlling themselves, ripping the drapes off the walls to expose the window. When I was about to rip the last set, my eye caught a movement in the garden. I opened the drapes a little more to take a closer look at a being moving around in the garden.

It looked like it was picking at some of the flowers and berries, stowing them in a container. I could make out it was a small boy. Since it was a new moon tonight, I couldn't see any of the features of his face, nor did the porch light reached out to touch him.

I watched him collect and then scurry away, escaping through the bushes that were used as a border around the garden. I wanted to follow him, but I knew I couldn't. I was trapped here, while he was free. I felt a ping of envy and that made me finish ripping the drapes off. I stormed back into my bed, frowning as I tried to go to sleep.