Hot pocket.
She was sitting on a bench with a full package of toast. Silently sobbing, she felt sad and angry. The ducks and pidgeons around here were more interested in the bag of bread than her, still it felt nice not to sit around alone in a park. “A little like being connected to nature”, she said and sniffed her nose.
She was hurt like so many before her, she knew that it would end this way. Still, it was a great ride. The places, the food, the sheer speed of the way of life. If you are speeding through days like this, it is no wonder to come to a stop earlier than anyone else. Either you run out of gas or just hit the breaks because you cannot see clearly around you anymore. But what if there no way to hit the accelerator again? How can I get moving again? “Well, here I am sitting now, she thought, in a traffic jam. In front of a constant red light. Who really controls the signal?” She will not find out.
Everyone told her: do not get into that car. Do not hit the gas. Do not think about change, think about what you have. Your car might not be the fastest but it gets there, eventually. So they said. “But where?”, she asked the ducks in front of her and threw a whole slice. The ducks and pidgeons came from every direction, fighting for the white bread.
“I do not want to feel the pain anymore, why am I even crying? I knew the risk, I took it. I enjoyed it. But now, I am sobbing with toast in my hand. Actually, this reminds me of something we always had for lunch, after skipping breakfast. This horrible thing that looks amazing from the outside. Crispy, deliciously smelling. Warmed up in a beat, for your pleasure. You take a bite and it stings you with the heat of the sun. Tongue burned, palate ruined. But there it is, the savoury smell of grilled cheese. Yeah, now that I am thinking about it, still all was like a hot pocket.”
She sniffed her nose, smiled a little, emptied the whole package of toast on the ground and leaned back on the bench.
“Fucking hot pockets”.