Let Freedom Ring

Crusted, pink pie stains are dribbled down the front of my shirt. My bare hands are sticky with residue. My skin is exposed to the germs flying around the smoggy morning.

I can't believe this! What has HAPPENED?

I feel the dirt in the wind, settling on my skin; the rough, dirty sidewalk under my naked feet. I smell the exhaust from the whistling bus, feel it breathe on my face. My whole body is exposed to the contaminated, grimy air, the unhygienic and polluted city.

I have never been happier.

A weight of dread has been lifted, and I feel a bubble of joy burst from my mouth, erupting into laughter that spills into the city. I start to run, leap, skip towards the dried up fountain, and as I pass, it gurgles once and water starts pumping from the spout, the sound echoing through the city, dancing with the sound of my laughter. I let my hands run through the rusty water, and I splash some water on myself, rejoicing in the beauty of the elements.

I keep running, moving towards the fresh corpse of a young woman. Her assorted limbs are twisted in an angelic spiral, and her face holds a small, knowing smile. I lean down and hug this innocent godsend, pouring my happiness into her wandering soul. I continue on my way, rushing into Watershed Heights, and soaring up the stairs. I grab the wonderfully sticky handle to the roof-top garden and swing it open, feeling the freedom of the day.

I see a mysterious man with a child-like face sitting in the midst of bumblebees in sitting lotus position. His poise is simple, yet refined, and I feel the urgency to kiss his smooth, balding head. I sweep across the garden, letting my toes sink into the soil, the flowers tickle my legs, and grace him with a soft, gentle kiss. He does not stir, but the bumblebees floating around him sing out a song that mirrors my bliss.

I let out another bubble of laughter, and feel the Heavens smile at me. The voice of Madame Mystic rings through the air: Phoebe. You're free.

Sweet Surprises

"Try this, sugar. You'll feel better in no time."

No more food. Please.

The smell hits me before I can voice my rejection. The smell of strawberry-banana pie dances under my nostrils. My mouth waters. It's a familiar scent, and I remember I smelt it when I first walked in the diner, but this scent is no longer intoxicating. It's delicious, sweet and fresh.

I look around for the source of this succulent aroma. In the dim light, I see the plump kitchen man caring out a thick slice, melted strawberry sauce seeping from the cracks in the homemade, crisp-brown pie crust. Without a second thought, I grab the pie from him, dig my fingers through the warm, crisp crust, and scoop out a glob, my fingers covered in the syrupy sweet pie innards.

I stuff the sweet, gooey goodness into my mouth, so different from the deadly potatoes. My teeth sink into the crumbly crust and the soft, moist bananas. I grab for more pie, my hands grabbing as much as they can. The smell is overwhelming. My tastes buds are shouting with desire, crying for more.

Beside me a man gets up and walks away from the delicious pie. Is he crazy? I laugh at the madness of his thoughts as I scream, "MORE PIE!"

A Buttery Splat

The words of Madame Mystic echo in my head:

My dear, you must go to Deena's 28 Hour Diner on this upcoming Wednesday evening. I see it in your palm that something... important is going to happen. Go, my dear, and feel the power of the Evil Eye.

I take three breaths, lift my gloved-covered hand, and BLAT! Suddenly my feet are swept from under me, and I hit the germ-invested sidewalk with a smack. Through bleary eyes, I am able to make out the silver-green scales of a tail. My vision goes in and out of focus as I feel smooth arms lift me off the ground. I hear the door whoosh open, the smell of buttery mashed-potatoes and intoxicatingly sweet strawberry-banana pie fills my nose, and I am placed gently on a smooth, red booth.

My vision clears. I feel woozy. In front of me is a plate of steaming, watery mashed potatoes, oozing with butter.

"It's on the house, sugar!" yells a plump, middle-aged man from the kitchen. "That damn merman knocked you down, so you need to get some energy back in ya!"

I look down at the plate of potatoes, and I noticed the Evil Eye emblem is written on the plate. My heart jumps, and I suddenly remember Madame Mystic's prophecy. I grab my fork from inside my purse, unwrap the protective plastic, submerge it into the mashed potatoes, and take a bite.

The potatoes disperse in my mouth, making me gag on the deathly amount of butter that soaks my esophagus. I force myself to swallow, feeling the thick goo slide slowly down. I gasp for air, and call out for some water. A glass is shoved to my table, and I throw back as much water as possible, letting the cool liquid wash away the residue of the potatoes.

I close my eyes and take another forkful. Phoebe, keep eating. The plate has the Evil Eye. Just three bites. I open my eyes and look at the potatoes dribbling onto my plate from my fork. I cringe as I shove the second bite into my mouth. Before I swallow, I scoop another forkful and shove that in, too. I try and swallow. Half the potatoes go down, I choke, and buttery, thick potato mush comes shooting out my mouth, hitting the back of the man in front of me.

He whips around, and his tail whips, too. There's a flash of silver-green as his tail swats my face, and then blackness.