Father cuts into his stake and wrinkles his nose. Before mother can take her place beside the head of the table she cooks his perceivably inedible meal again. The rest of dinner is silent.
mother smiles uncomfortably. He sniffs and proceeds to eat. He pretends the rest of us aren’t in the room.
A scene starring Father being force fed our liquified leftovers through a slow drip IV plays in my head.
I watch him gleefully. His once formidable presence reveals hysterically pompous undertones
A slow smile spreads across my face.
I make a futile attempt to fight the laughter rising in my chest
It chokes me on it’s way out
He asks what I’m looking at
Possible answers present themselves to me, each one more desecrate than the last
if I tipped my head back and sang them, birds would land on me like Snow White