Porridge
They poked at the helplessly dead and helplessly black soy bean fish that was served on a modest plate made of porcelain. And still they attacked it relentlessly, mouthfuls at a time. When they weren't eating, they chatted and in all-too-routinely a manner and this adds on to their carelessness as they went on to attack the cabbage on yet another porcelain plate. And they ate, with the very routine, everyday porridge that they would have at the table everyday. And even more carelessly, they went for refills after refills as if the porridge never depletes like it usually does for when it usually does what it usually did on very routine days, such as this very day, a very unfortunate and wasteful and also very healthy portion of porridge would be served straight to the bin. Yet today, a meeting of several factors somehow factored in the possibility of the pot being dysfunctional; it had not served enough.
And this was much to the displeasure of the young one, who just awoken from deep slumber at this very moment, to be at this very moment very unfortunately informed that the pot was dysfunctional. Without a word, he strolled downstairs calmly, either out of lethargy of getting out of bed or it could be a ominous sign of the calm before the storm. He stared at the shiny, glorified looking pot. Taking of its lid, still very calmly, he stared once more into the pot. He thought briefly for a second, did an abstract mental estimation and concluded with near precision; the pot was dysfunctional. There was barely enough for the growing boy.
Angrily, he stomped upstairs perhaps to hide his disappointment of not having enough to eat. He decided to save his dignity to not eat at all for he was a proud character. He must have been disappointed, not by the having not enough to eat, but by the simple fact that he barely had enough to eat which made him really disappointed. Was he "left out"? That question could not be answered without certainty without a thorough interrogation which the young one would hostilely propel with a thunderous voice and an endless string of profanities that might well include an equally countless number of languages. Afterall, the first foreign words learned by most people are often profanities, it was not uncommon to speak in such a manner.
The cousin decided to take flight from this awkward situation and escaped out the front door of his own house. In fact, he wanted to escape so much he planned to have went out that front door before he even thought about walking out that door.
"See you there.", as he ended he online conversation, which preceded his thought to take flight from the situation. It made sense since computers move so fast now. One should definitely think faster than act, and act before the thought even materializes.
And in the torturous sun and the eternal 2min walk out to the bus stop, wholesale of images ran through his head. His brother was disappointed at negligence. His grandmother worried about a starving grandson and guilty of her own error in cooking just enough so much so she wanted to cook another plate of fried rice just for him. The brother seeing his whole bloody greedy and guilty glutton face in the mirror when he could have left enough in the fallible pot to advert this whole adversary. It pains his heart that nothing went wrong for it was all normal for the pot to not be infallible yet two of his loved ones are possibly feeling quite down over this. The young one actually loves porridge and the grandmother never more happy that everyone is full, happy and satisfied. Damn the pot.
SrslyJude
11:15 PM
