When I was Cutting...?

An apology was made to each lifeless piece as they were beheaded. Cold, and gray, they didn't squirm when  my bare hands wrapped around their heads as my thumb pressed hard against the segment which connected their too large heads to the slightly curved bodies, severing the bond between the two parts with a pull of little force.

I shut my eyes every time I heard a damply crisp sound of heads being torn apart. My hands were shaking and I was repeating the words "I'm sorry" over and over again, my voice in a slight tremble. With each pull, something oozes out onto my fingers, making me feel the ridiculous guilt of hurting prawns that have already no life.

They were dead anyway, so why did it matter? It's not as if they could feel the pain of being viciously torn apart-- even if they did, it was done in an instant so not much pain would be felt.

A thin strand of intestines--gooey and filled with undigested substances-- bounced against my skin as I removed them like pulling on a weak semi-elastic string. I had to strip the creatures of their protective skeleton, using the help of a blunt knife to make a fine opening in the flesh before I could reach the digestive tract.

Peeling them one by one, my thoughts shifted to the possibility of a parallel universe where at the exact moment, there was a shrimp standing in the kitchen and skinning a human being in preparation for lunch.

I look at the limp creature in my hand.

It was born for this. To be killed, to be peeled, to be eaten. Bred in a farm in town, probably.

Ah... How unfair is life? It had no freedom of its own, coming into this world only to live a short meaningless life in a pond with a million of others who share the same fate.

Perhaps it was from the deep blue sea? If so, it was a waste that it got caught in the fisherman's net.

There was a rhythm to when the knife hit against board. With one hand, I move the knife in a steady beat, while my free hand shoves the cut segments of purple bulbs into the man-powered chops. Since when did my cutting improve? It used to take me minutes to finely chop onions-- or anything for that matter.

Onions.

I've never once shed tears for this purple bulb of tantalizing sweetness that owns a rather feisty personality. Layers upon layers, I never got how people stung their eyes because of those smooth skins.

I seem to be enjoying myself, making a mess of the kitchen as I go. I take forever to cook as I enjoy every moment I spend preparing, thinking as I peel, dice or stir.

...
..
.

I would love to write more, but after I gobbled down my spaghetti, I seemed to have forgotten everything I wanted to write, the things that went through my mind as I observed my own actions.

I'm going to be late for my movie if I don't hit the showers! I smell like seafood at the moment!




P.s. Gonna bake cookies when I come home later~