Confession of a Biscuit Lover

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Abstract

fast trajectory rebounds my chin up. The supermarket aisle feels suddenly wider. Empty shelves, flickering lights, a swollen radiator hose bellowing at some distance…In a blink, I am facing a dark haired stranger. My blood rushes out of my extremities while my heart pumps like an overloaded engine. His look is decisive, his hair is in disarray. I cannot afford to blink, my eyes sore. I can hear his breath, rushed, after the run that brought him in my way. My heart knocks in my ears, yet I am motionless. To my left, there is the last package of biscuits on the shelf. He is here for it! The chlorine smell of the air around us hurts my nostrils. He is stronger. He is here to get it! My throat is paralyzed, I cannot swallow my saliva. I have to fight him…physically! I don’t know how to fight him… I wasn’t supposed to, until now... My arms feel tight and boneless. “ I need to trick him… An ideea will come to me, eventually ... My killer instinct will rise from within, it has to!”.I feel a halo of pain around my forehead. “… someone will come and help me”… Nobody is coming… He takes a step towards me, mindless, yet totally focused on me. Dare me, his silence screams. “I will take the biscuits and you will let me do it”, he groans. There is no place for further words. No negotiation accepted. I am a fake opponent. A shadow of the lost world. I have no power in this world. My skills are useless here. His fingers go round the colorful DELICIOUS TASTE, his eyes into mine… he moves in a semi-circle around me, and then

Options

rushes out of sight, with the last biscuits in the world in his right hand. I do not turn to follow him, I do not check if he has really left. I am struck by the realization that I am not able to survive. My killer instinct did not kick in. I did not outsmart my opponent. No hero saved me. Not even the hero’s dog… And then I see it: I am not able to survive. “If the moment comes, I am not able to fight for my biscuits…”A metalic hit, behind me, makes me wince. I turn around only to see a shop attendant with a cart full of biscuits and pastries. “ Sorry, madam”, he whispers. Relieved, I look down at the package in my hand and let it slide into my cart; I deposit a few extra packages, placid on the issue of how many weeks these will last me, and move further into the shop aisle. “ If I cannot fight the upcoming apocalypse, at least I can be fat for the party, right?”Thank you for reading my work. If you liked this piece of writing, you can also try my other Stamp During a Pandemic: “<a href="https://readmedium.com/inquiry-for-my-cat-23dd7f849429">Inquiry for My Cat</a>”.© <a href="https://medium.com/@anamariaschweitzer">Ana-Maria Schweitzer</a> 2020Ana-Maria is a Romanian health psychologist, working in philanthropy and involved in developing prevention and care programs for people with chronic conditions. A seeker of meaning, she uses writing and playing with words, as ways of uncovering both the order and disorder that reign inside and outside our minds.</article></body>

A Stamp During a Pandemic

I am pushing a cart in a COVID-19 revamped supermarket. A few people, most with masks, some with visors, others with surgical gloves… I wear a tri-fold blue surgical mask. My breath steams my glasses. I avoid eye contact with the people around. If I would look at them, I feel like I would need to show off an opinion about our common situation. I prefer to imitate, avoid and stay safe.

I stop in front the biscuit rack. How many should I take? I usually take 4 packages and those last me for two weeks. I take those, then I find myself reaching for another package. My reason tells me that I do not need this one, yet I go for it. Suddenly, this extra biscuit package makes me feel unsafe. My fingers around the colorful writing, promising a DELICIOUS TASTE, slowly open up. I keep the biscuits in equilibrium on my open palm, my head bended forward, my breath buffered under the slightly wet mask cloth, as I feel the upward cut of fear, raising from my abdomen.

It’s fast trajectory rebounds my chin up. The supermarket aisle feels suddenly wider. Empty shelves, flickering lights, a swollen radiator hose bellowing at some distance…

In a blink, I am facing a dark haired stranger. My blood rushes out of my extremities while my heart pumps like an overloaded engine. His look is decisive, his hair is in disarray. I cannot afford to blink, my eyes sore. I can hear his breath, rushed, after the run that brought him in my way. My heart knocks in my ears, yet I am motionless. To my left, there is the last package of biscuits on the shelf. He is here for it! The chlorine smell of the air around us hurts my nostrils. He is stronger. He is here to get it! My throat is paralyzed, I cannot swallow my saliva. I have to fight him…physically! I don’t know how to fight him… I wasn’t supposed to, until now... My arms feel tight and boneless. “ I need to trick him… An ideea will come to me, eventually ... My killer instinct will rise from within, it has to!”.

I feel a halo of pain around my forehead. “… someone will come and help me”… Nobody is coming… He takes a step towards me, mindless, yet totally focused on me. Dare me, his silence screams. “I will take the biscuits and you will let me do it”, he groans. There is no place for further words. No negotiation accepted. I am a fake opponent. A shadow of the lost world. I have no power in this world. My skills are useless here. His fingers go round the colorful DELICIOUS TASTE, his eyes into mine… he moves in a semi-circle around me, and then rushes out of sight, with the last biscuits in the world in his right hand. I do not turn to follow him, I do not check if he has really left. I am struck by the realization that I am not able to survive. My killer instinct did not kick in. I did not outsmart my opponent. No hero saved me. Not even the hero’s dog… And then I see it: I am not able to survive. “If the moment comes, I am not able to fight for my biscuits…”

A metalic hit, behind me, makes me wince. I turn around only to see a shop attendant with a cart full of biscuits and pastries. “ Sorry, madam”, he whispers. Relieved, I look down at the package in my hand and let it slide into my cart; I deposit a few extra packages, placid on the issue of how many weeks these will last me, and move further into the shop aisle. “ If I cannot fight the upcoming apocalypse, at least I can be fat for the party, right?”

Thank you for reading my work. If you liked this piece of writing, you can also try my other Stamp During a Pandemic: “Inquiry for My Cat”.

Ana-Maria is a Romanian health psychologist, working in philanthropy and involved in developing prevention and care programs for people with chronic conditions. A seeker of meaning, she uses writing and playing with words, as ways of uncovering both the order and disorder that reign inside and outside our minds.