A Memory of Dying

I can see us holding those little white pleated paper cups,
smell the yellow pineapple cubes, icy cold, the perfect mid-morning snack for preschoolers.
There is chopped green mint sprinkled on top, and we are eating these with wooden toothpicks,
the kind with sharp points on both ends.

I carefully place each cube in my mouth, fearful of wounding myself,
each time tentatively touching the needle tip against my tongue,
confirm that it could indeed easily puncture my gums,
or be jammed right through the roof of my mouth, I taste the blood,
anticipate the scream.

Why are we four-year-olds allowed to use these dangerous utensils?

I see myself back then suffering the same fate as Paris Hilton
in 2005’s House of Wax, dying instantly when a jagged pipe
stabs her right through the brain, so tragic, her Achille’s heal,
mine, luckily, not a lifelong fear of pineapple cube snacking
causing permanent brain damage.

* * * * *

Aloha #WriterFriday, I hope you’ve had a good week. Today’s #WritingPrompt is


Use it to inspire a piece of writing, any style, any length, and then post that piece somewhere I can read it. I would love to see what you come up with : )

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