by Maria Anderson
I will lose four pounds this week. I cram the magazine ads into my mouth, tearing out pages of silky chocolate cake, 100 calorie packs of Twix and Three Musketeer bars, Cheerios, lasagna, pizza bagels, Pop-Tarts, creamy strawberry Toaster Strudel. The colors smear together in my mouth and dribble panoptic down my chin. My aged mother is a food critic and visits the most expensive restaurants to judge food with pristine bites and deliberate mastication. She is not truly hungry and thus not fit to judge that which nurtures and destroys. Food is my obsession, and only I deserve to consume.
Maria Anderson is a college student whose pet snake refuses to eat his dead mice meals.