Another prompt this week from InMon – this time I had real difficulty choosing which prompt to follow, but I hope you like the following and I’d love to hear your feedback. In particular, there should be a better title for this piece, but I’m struggling to find one. Suggestions (and concrit in general) always welcome.
Enough to go around
They stand around me, cooing innocently, as though all they want is their fair share. But they are legion – even a crumb for each would leave me destitute, and any less is hardly a share at all.
I am suddenly reminded of the news I read the other day – about a man who won the lottery and killed himself because he couldn’t cope with everyone he knew suddenly demanding a portion of his winnings. “Just a little bit”, “You have so much”, “It always feels good to be generous”… He killed himself. £26 million, and the poor chap couldn’t take the pressure! My colleague said she thought she’d find a way, and I laughed. I agreed. How could you kill yourself over how to share 26 million pounds? Just give everyone what they want. It’s such a large amount, it’s basically never-ending.
But it’s not, is it? If everyone wants their pound of flesh, there’s not going to be enough flesh to go around. Much like my sandwich. I bought the foot-long today. Far too much for me, but spread between the hundreds of upturned faces, a mere drop in the ocean of famine. What if they tore me to shreds too? Would there be enough then? Would they each get a morsel, arguing over who took my eyes and who settled for a shred of arm? The old joke, “Are you a breast man or a leg man?” taking on a whole new meaning.
I look down at their united stares. All waiting for their moment to attack. I cannot hold the eye off one without taking my attention from the rest. I hold my ground, take another bite.
Then a toddler looses his mother’s hand and runs at me. My tormentors scatter, squawking, into the sky. I am free, but in my terror, I have dropped my sandwich. They will have the last laugh, when my saviour is gone. But I will be far away, eating indoors in future, and avoiding Trafalgar Square at lunchtime.
elmowrites 