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30 June, 2010

by The Wandering Wastrel

fairy-bread

My mother was very caring and ensured that I had the most nutritious food available for school.
Fruit Yogurts, Vogels bread sandwiches with sprouts, cheese and organic mayonnaise.
Rye Crispbread and marmite crackers and an apple.
I would look on hungrily to the other childrens lunches.
Chocolate puddings, biscuits, cans of Coke and white bread sandwiches with margarine and filled with hundreds and thousands !!

I would try to swap my healthy lunch for their dessert type lunch and was always met with laughter and scorn.

One day I couldn’t handle it any more and I decided to just take a kids lunch.
I grabbed the kids coke and chugged it while keeping one leg free to kick him back with.
Its sweetness made my eyes water and glaze over slightly.
Then I advanced on him and twisted the hundreds and thousands sandwich out of his feeble hands and crammed it into my mouth.
The white bread was so soft and fluffy and the margarine was fatty and sweet.
The sugary crunch of the hundreds and thousands was a delightful heavenly treat.

The other kid was balling about having no lunch now but I could barely hear him through my cocaine like sugar daze.
I flung him my healthy lunch and walked off.

I continued this activity, of mugging the most sugary sweet lunches and giving them my lunch in exchange to stop their bleating.
The kids with these yummy lunches were weak.
Pinching with my strong fingers made them beg for mercy.
Squeezing them made them scream like little girls and give up their lunches.
If they tried to fight, they would go down in one hit.

At the beginning the lunches had a strange effect on my super healthy body.
First off I became constipated, and was either tweaking out with the shakes or feeling really tired and cranky.
Sometimes I would get a tummy ache. I started getting a runny nose and a little cough.
I couldn’t do sports and PE as well as I used to.
I stopped playing rugby at lunch times.
Bright sunny days hurt my eyes so I spent lunch times in the classrooms with other weak kids.

But I still looked forward to the sweet sugary lunches of chips and cookies and cakes.

About six months went by…

Now days kids were just swapping lunches straight up with me and physical persuasion was not needed.

I went up to one of the kids who I would often torment, who had some of the yummiest lunches.
I said “Bez, lunch, Now.”
And threw him my lunch.
He looked me over for a bit and then said “No.”
I said “ What do you mean No?!” and advanced on him with my pinching, pain bringing fingers and slap hands at the ready.
Ill bitch slap this kid into next week for getting up in my grill like this, I thought.
Possibly not those words BUT that EXACT concept.

He just stood up to me. And I faltered.
He calmly said “Do you want to see how hard I can punch now?”

I almost got a chance to say something but my sugar and fairy dots filled brain wasn’t working very well.

Then I was down. Bright sparks exploding in my head, I was seeing hundreds and thousands before my eyes
. His foot was on my chest crushing me.
I screamed like a little girl and struggled to crawl away.
He put both of his strong Vogels bread and Marmite fueled sandwiches into my hair and pulled until tufts came out.
I crawled from the classroom dribbling and screaming to the sound of harsh laughter.

I made my way into the toilets and looked at myself in the mirror.
Some skeletal kid with sunken racoon eyes and a white sallow face with red spots looked back at me. Nose running and looking pathetic.
I cleaned myself up as best I could and slunk back into the class shamefaced.
I picked my lunch off the floor and for the first time in a long time, and with soft slightly loose teeth, bit into the hard brown sandwich of healing body toughening goodness that my caring mother had lovingly crafted for me.

I felt the strength flowing back into my atrophied stickman limbs…

I looked over at Bez chugging down his chocolate pudding dairybased foodsnack …
My puffy eyes narrowed and I thought… see you in six months…

1 replies to Breads of the Fairy.

  1. Feeling a little overfed and undernourished by the moral of your story, I wonder if experiences that banish irony are much better for living than for writing. Nevertheless, who would have thought that nutritionally worthless industrial white bread smeared with hydrogenated vegetable oil then covered in a kaleidoscope of toxic 100’s & 1000’s, and childhood psychopathology were intimately linked… brilliant.

    “A man may be a pessimistic determinist before lunch and an optimistic believer in the will’s freedom after it.”
    – Aldous Huxley

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