Sylvia Plath has that famous line - the one about figs, and how there are so many to choose from, it's impossible to know which one to choose. She wants it all.

I don't.

As I write this, I sit uninspired, by everything. I'm bored - all the time. I drink my coffee in the morning to wake up - for what? To do the 9 to 5? I'm tired.

Sylvia Plath has another famous line - "I want so desperately for the good things to happen." It's grim, with a suicidal flavor. And it opens a large can of worms.

Like - what happened to her figs?

Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. We have so many choices thrown at us, every day. It's overwhelming. There's no way to enjoy all the figs.

And if you don't choose a fig, it drops to the ground and rots. It's too late.

As I sit here, enjoying my cup of coffee, I have to wonder why I'm uninspired. My phone literally has an internet search engine on it that could come up with any idea my heart desires to pursue. But I remain stagnant - overwhelmed by possibility, I have shut down completely.

I wonder if Sylvia Plath hadn't picked "poet" as her fig, if she hadn't picked "marrying Ted Hughes" as her other fig, if she'd still be with us. It's an impossible question to answer.

It's impossible to know when too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing. But it remains entirely possible for there to be too much good, too many options, too many figs.

Fishing around my purse for my keys, I did my best to keep both eyes on my surrounding. The three seconds that it takes to find my keys, can make a huge difference in this neighborhood. It’s dangerous here & like an idiot I keep coming back.

I quickly got into my car, locked the doors & took off.

“I hate this part…I have to get out of here”, I said to myself.

Once I crossed the bridge leading me out of Slocum Hollow, the anxiety melted right away. Coaltown is nothing like the Hollow. People know me here, police know me here. I don’t have to worry about being pulled over like I would across the bridge. I doubt anyone would try to rob me here or any of the craziness that happens in the Hollow.

Everyone knows the car I drive & for as visible as I am, I’m also looked over & invisible when it comes to legal discrepancies. All thanks to being the granddaughter to whom, once was the most favored mayor in the history of Coaltown. My family is well-known & respected. Although my mother didn’t follow in her father’s political footsteps, she built a successful career as an actress. My mother holds a main role in a soap Opera called, “Little Town Lies”, she is Bailey & is the center of the plots. Ironically, we have our main residence in our own little town of lies. My mother never wanted to call any place home, except Coaltown.

As I open the door to my house, my phone starts to ring. Of course, it’s Tate.

“What’s up Tate?”

“Nothing. I thought you were going to call me & let me know everything went good“, he questioned.

“It did go good. I literally just got home.”

I put the phone on speaker & tossed it onto the countertop, as he continued to talk. I really like Tate, but there’s something about him that seems weird to me. We haven’t known each other that long, so we are still learning things about one another. There’s just something that keeps creating that gut feeling. You know, the feeling that is trying to tell you to abort mission. Talking to a guy like this, who I never had a prior friendship with or anything, it’s all new to me. I feel like that could be the reason behind this gut feeling & the nerves. I can’t lie, it’s been nothing but good vibes with Tate. Plus he’s extremely attractive & a lot of fun! I don’t want to jinx a good thing.

“So you going to come over”, Tate asked?

“I guess. I mean it would be even better if you come over here”, I tried to sway him.

“I’ll come over there Wednesday & stay the night… or two. I promise you Allister.”

Reluctantly I agreed, “You’re lucky I like you & think you’re kind of cute. I’ll head out in 20 minutes.”

“Perfect! Oh don’t forget all the stuff, either. It’s going to be another good night”, he said excitedly.

“Wait, I don’t want to bring everything. I don’t know why you even need me to bring that much”, I questioned.

He let out what sounded like a sign of aggravation, “Allister… you’re good. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to worry“, he finished the call & hung up.

“This is too much to bring, especially to Bentley”, I said to myself.

Fishing around for my keys again, I had a moment of doubt. Standing there with the car door open, I watched the cold turn my breath into a frigid cloud.

“Agh! Why do I feel like this”?

I started my car & followed the directions of the GPS. The closer I got, the worst I feel. You would think there’s impending doom cast upon this world, if you could measure this feeling.

I grabbed my phone, I have to call my best friend.

Praying she answers, I finally hear her voice after the fifth ring.

“Hey, Hey”, she greeted me.

”Dev, I don’t know what to do. Tate’s basically begging me to come over… & I am. I just have the worst feeling. I don’t know what to do. My nerves are on a hundred“, I cried.

“Girl you better take note of that feeling. I like Tate & everything, but he seems sneaky, don’t you think”, she asked?

“Yes! That leads me to this next part. He told me he’s an accountant in West Bentley, but not to sound like a stalker, I cannot find any accounting firms on Google. I wish I met him from a friend so I could feel better that someone knows him & can verify things like this. Who meets people at a damn gas station? Me.”

Devin went silent for a few seconds, “Alli, you’re making me nervous now. Maybe take a breather tonight. You guys have been hanging out a lot the last few weeks. I don’t think Tate is a murderer or anything crazy, but maybe we need to do an investigation on him”, she suggested.

“Hold on… he just texted me & again he made it a point mention that I need to bring all the stuff I just bought. Something isn’t right, Dev.”

“Stop over here & drop it off. Reply to him & tell him you’re good. Alli, you have to stop with this shit… let alone Tate. Tonight, I’ll hold it down. I really don’t want to do it again though. I feel like he’s constantly talking about it.”

“Good idea. Meet me at your door in like 10 minutes. Thank you. I owe you”, I hung up the phone.

I grabbed the half-ounce of cocaine out of my makeup bag, as soon as I pulled into Devin’s driveway. I quickly flew out of my car & met her at the front door.

“Allister… what are you doing with this? You never did this shit like this. Tate really seemed like a good thing, but this is a lot. Half an ounce, come on”, she said after I handed it to her.

“Listen, I promise no more after that’s gone. It’s not all mine anyways”, I said as I hurried into my car.

Within 15 minute, I was pulling in front of Tate’s apartment complex. Normally, it’s rare to see people parked on the curb, beside me. However, someone is definitely having a party because there are a ton of cars. Maybe that’s why he wanted it so bad.

I texted Tate to let him know I’m here. As I grab my purse, I turned around to see Tate walk over & he had some guy with him.

“He‘s so fine…” I said as I walked over to them.

“You have that half ounce Allister”?, Tate asked as soon as he saw me.

“Yes for the tenth time, Tate”, I lied for some reason.

His friend reached into his back pocket, looked at Tate & grabbed a pair of handcuffs.

“Allister Redd Jawor, you’re under arrest for possession of a controlled substance & a series of other drug charges for possessing cocaine“, he informed me.

“Tate you’re kidding me, right? What the hell? Are you kidding me”?, I yelled as my legs began to feel weak.

I cannot believe my gut feeling was right. I cannot believe I gave that shit to Dev, I cannot believe I been falling for a detective who was investigating me the whole time.

“Allister, I’m detective Kevin Barnes & clearly you know my partner Tate Ferg. I’m going to sit you on the curb. We have a warrant to search your vehicle, so please make this easy for all of us & let me know where the cocaine is & any other substances or paraphernalia”, he instructed.

I will lie to Tate like he lied to me. Let’s see how long & how far this goes before they realize I have nothing in my possession. I have nothing.

“I would like to call my lawyer. Don’t expect answers from me until then”, I yelled.

Tate looked at me, almost like he felt regret for doing this as he & his partner opened the doors to my BMW. I knew it deep down, something wasn’t right. I am done with all of it. The partying is over & I am done dabbling. Too much of a good thing, is a bad thing… & this was too good to be true, too fun & too much too fast.

There was no denying it. Emma Reigal’s life was perfect. I spent far too much of my own life as a spectator of hers. She had everything – looks, charm, talent, money. She had the personality, too. She was funny, smart, kind. Everything she did was interesting. Every word she spoke had everyone sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for the next word to fall from her lips.

Everyone loved her – classmates, teachers, parents. And try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a reason not to. She had never said one bad word to me or about me. She had never been anything but kind to me. But there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way.

No one understood why I was so repulsed by her. To be honest, I didn’t understand it myself.

So, I tried to ignore it. I tried to push that repulsion deep down. Instead, I chose to befriend Emma. Before long, we were the best of friends. She spent hours upon hours with my family, who, of course, loved her. And I spent just as much time with her family, who were just as happy and perfect as she was.

Eventually, we graduated, but we never lost touch. She called at least once a month, telling me about her successful college career – her perfect grades, her wonderful friends, her passionate and intelligent professors. Eventually, I started hearing about her boyfriend, who soon became her fiancé.

I met him before long. He was every bit as wonderful as Emma made him out to be. He was handsome and sweet and smart and interesting. And he was in love with Emma.

When she asked me to be her maid of honor, I couldn’t say no. I got dressed up in that bubblegum-pink gown and got my hair and nails and makeup done. And I kept waiting for something to happen. What, I wasn’t quite sure, but it was a wedding; something would go wrong. Weddings were never perfect.

Except hers was. Everything went exactly according to plan. Everyone showed up on time. Nothing was forgotten or missing or broken.

As I stood in front of the church, watching this perfect woman saying her vows to her perfect groom, with a single, pretty tear rolling down her cheek, I realized what it was; I realized why I was so repulsed by her, even now, years after I had grown to care about her.

Her life was too perfect. She had no troubles at all – no hardships, no worries, no grief, no anxiety. Nothing. Her life was too good. It wasn’t natural. Life needed hardships to balance out the good times. We needed some sorrow to balance the joy. But her life didn’t have any.

As I watched the happy bride and groom walk back down the aisle towards their future together, I smiled widely – the most sincere smile I had ever given Emma. Because I finally knew how to fix this problem, how to fix Emma. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Well, after tonight, that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. I was going to introduce some bad into Emma’s too-good life.

When I got my first aquarium, I filled it with a variety of fishes, shrimps, plants, and rocks. I was over the moon. My nose pressed to the glass, I watched the tiny blue guppies chase the zippy tetra along the surface, while the bright red shrimp made friends with the cory catfish on the tank floor. I faithfully dropped in the smelly pale flakes daily. The filter circulated the gurgling water predictably. Time moved only as quickly as the lazy, waving fronds of the Java ferns and mosses. All was right with the world.

The guppies quickly got to work making babies. To my dismay, when the hatchlings appeared, the new parents took to eating their offspring. I pleaded to have another tank, for the fry. It would go in the family room, since I had no where else to keep it. I would surely clean it every day. This was arranged, and very soon, all the tiny guppies were happily flitting around in their own wide, safe world— far away from their hungry moms and dads.

I sprinkled the fishy flakes into both tanks, every day at first. One day, though, I forgot, and didn’t notice until the guppy fry resorted to cannibalizing their brothers and sisters. I was distraught and hurt. These animals were my responsibility and I had let them down. Frantically, my eyes growing hot, I began scooping up the bigger fry in a water glass, spilling some water, and some fish, on the floor. After the clean up, I poured half of the little guys into a large pitcher and set them on my nightstand. They had room to swim and to escape from each other, and I could breathe. Everyone was safe for now.

The days were seeming shorter and shorter. Every morning, as I shuffled books and papers into my backpack and tied my shoes, I checked on the little fish in their habitats. Some were looking sad. Some floated slowly to the surface of the water, their gills still moving in silence, before suddenly gaining inspiration and swimming back to the watery side of life. The red shrimp had gone missing. But I had to eat my cereal before the bus arrived. I had time neither to notice nor to care that algae and duck weed were growing in my beautiful tanks. Still, I loved the guppies and the tetra and the cory dearly, and worried over them like a hen worries for her chicks.

One day, I got home from school and all the fish were belly-up. Since I had been too busy with homework to remember my fish, my little sister had been employed to feed them, and had done her duty liberally. The poor things smothered in their own greasy, goopy dinner. I cried big tears and choked on my disappointment in the proper decorum of a grieving mother.

Wonderfully, one lazy afternoon, I came home to find a spacious, clean fishbowl on my nightstand. It was tastelessly and lovingly filled with neon gravel. It housed a plastic pirate ship, and one tiny, ugly, angry, emerald green betta fish. My affection for him was immediate, and I now feed him every single day. It is a very simple task to keep his bowl clean.

Every day for years, the pencil watched through the clear plastic of the pencil case, as the children ran and danced and played. Smiles burst through the children's faces as they spun to the sound of musical laughter. He longed to join them, to spin and twirl in fluid motions, to laugh and smile and to escape the rigid prison of his holder. Every day it was the same, he would lay on his side and envy the joyous children who moved so freely and when they all left the pencil would replay all their movements in his mind to try to replicate them, but he never made it off his side.

Until one day, when a small boy open the pencil case and grabbed the pencil with his pudgy little fingers. The boy crossed the room to sit down at a wooden table where the other little children where. The boy rested the pencil between his finger tips and the pencil began to dance across a white dancefloor. The pencil twirled and spun, ran and walked, the pencil leaped across the page and began again on a new one. Wherever the pencil went he left a charcoal trail of his giddy adventure. The pencil was the happiest he had ever been and the children where elated to see the pencil having so much fun.

After that day, the pencil was the favorite out of all his peers in the case. As soon as the children returned, they would rush to be the one able to use the pencil that day. He lived his happiest life twirling dancing and playing every day, finally living up to his dreams. When his point dulled the children would put his head in a metal contraption to sharpen it once again and he would continue fluttering across the spread.

Days of joy filled the pencils life, but he started to notice a problem. He became shorter and shorter as he grew older, to the point his oldest friend, the boy with pudgy fingers couldn't even hold on to the pencils shaft anymore. A girl with long slender fingers had taken up being the pencil's guardian but even she complained of hand cramps taking their toll. But the pencil danced on enjoying every moment of it.

One day the girl began to write with the pencil and his tip once again began to dull, she walked over to the metal beast but the beast did nothing. The girl walked back to the pencil case and tossed the poor pencil in. The pencil too began to cry, he had experienced the joy of free movement and knew what it was like to dance, but now, one again he was trapped, all because he danced too much.

The first time I got drunk, I was 14 years old. It’s a vivid memory. At least, I think it is. Memories are strange that way. You can never really tell how accurate they are, but I’m going to tell this story as though these memories are to be trusted.

I had a friend, and for the purposes of this story, I’ll call him Nate. Nate had an exotic look to him. Extremely tall, slender, and hair so blonde it was almost white. So, you can imagine in our small industrial town, that the albino jokes flew like south bound birds during the chilly seasons. To add to that, his father got murdered in a drunken poker game, and then his mother quickly moved on to a woman she worked with. His sister took that news with such difficulty that she spent that Christmas in the hospital getting her stomach pumped after a suicide attempt of vodka mixed with sleeping pills. All of this is true, and it adds to the reason that we were drinking at such a young age.

Nate lived close to the skatepark, where we spent most of the time that we weren’t in school, shooting hoops, laughing, swearing, getting overly competitive, and the odd time, throwing hands. It was a strange place, but we were bored and there was really nothing else to do. This was during the onset of the housing market crash, where all the businesses in town were falling like dominos, and with that so did all of our folks’ finances. This created a strange sense of restlessness that could be felt through the town like a thick malevolent fog. It also created a desperate need for a hangout that didn’t cost a cent. Just a basketball and some friends.

One Friday, Nate and I and a couple other buddies were sitting on the grass behind one of the nets, when I mentioned that the Flagship Bar downtown was starting a teen night every Friday, or every second Friday, I don’t remember now, but I’d heard it from my older brother. This was a desperation move by a bar owner whose business was flatlining, because all of the regulars were out of work. Obviously, no alcohol was to be served, but all the teens were going to find ways to get sloshed before heading to the bar. So, it was going to be an underaged shitshow to say the least.

Nate tells me that Janie, who was likely the most beautiful girl in town and happened to be a friend of his because their parents were close growing up, that her boyfriend, Aaron, goes across the bridge all the time to get beer cheap and sell it in town to teens for loan shark mark-ups. He says all we have to do is chip in a few bucks each, and we can have a 24 of Budweiser. Me and my buddies say yeah, that’s great. Let’s do it.

So Friday night rolls along, and me, Chris, and Danny, head over to Nate’s with our money, and hand it over to Aaron, who gives us the beer. We stuff a few bottles in each of our bookbags and take off for the dugout behind the high school.

There the four of us drink six Buweisers each, and head for the bar.

Now, at 14 years old, never having drank a sip in my life. Six Budweisers had me feeling like a foreigner invading my own body.

The world looked different. Our shitty small town looked fluorescent and glowing. We stumbled our way to the bar, laughing, momentarily forgetting about our broken town, our fighting parents, or in Nate’s case, a dead parent. Forgetting about big Tarzan, who was a double sleeved full bearded senior who punched us freshman in the gut every time we walked past him in the hallways at school. Forgetting about all the things that kept us awake at night.

At the bar, we walked in and it was packed. I mean, we were squeezing our way in. Maybe, Tommy, the bar owner, was on to something. Or maybe, like most of us suspected, he was just an old perve, trying to find a legal way too eye fuck underage girls. Either way, the place was bumping in an otherwise deserved ghost town.

So we waltz in like we own the joint, find a table to stand behind near the dance floor, and laugh. We just started laughing. We saw two girls dancing together and I said, “Look Nate, it’s your mom and her lover.” and he bursts out laughing. We see a tiny, gangster wannabe with a New York Mets flat cap on sideways, a baggy shirt, and jeans that were showing 90 percent of his underwear, and Nate says to me, “You never told me you had a twin.”

Those six beers sat in our bellies, like liquid courage. We felt strong, and we felt good. There was nothing that could be said to us that hurt our feelings. Or so, I thought.

The guys eventually started razzing Nate to the point where the smile started to dissipate. He was just an easy target. All the shit that was going on with him seemed too easy to pick apart. A suicidal sister. Lesbian mother. Drunken dead father. For three first time 14 year old drunks, the jokes continued until Nate lost his temper and flew out of there.

The buzz left instantly, and the strong feelings of courage, and laughter, all dissipated with it.

Then my stomach started to turn with guilt and the foreign liquid. I went outside, and in an alley beside the bar. I threw up my lungs.

All these years later, I still have moments of deep quiet where I’ll think about what a colossal asshole I was. How back then, I’d do anything and say anything for a laugh. A laugh was as precious as gold. A laugh was more important than the hell my best friend was living in.

Then I think about Nate, who I know, that still to this day, is in deep pain over his life.

He messaged me not long ago, just to say

“Hey. Do you ever think that life just isn’t what you expected?”

And I answered, “Yeah, man. All those things that seemed funny then, just aren’t very funny anymore, are they?”

And he said, “Nope. Not at all.”

"Somma!", I heard my name for the second time in a row. "Nothing will make me answer this woman today", I told myself as I continued walking on the narrow path leading to Kaima's house for a late afternoon gossip before I returned in the evening to cook dinner for my parents.

"Somma! My dear please come", I heard her say again. The 'my dear' she said is melting my heart a little bit but I can't seem to forget what had happened a few days ago.

I had just come back from school, ate my lunch and decided to go help my mom out at her kiosk for a while. I was on my way when I met Mama Ifeanyi coming back from the farm with a basin of cocoyam on her head.

"Good afternoon ma", I had greeted her as I passed her that fateful day. I could have minded my business if I knew what was going to happen but no! I decided to show how good I was and how my parents had raised a homely girl.

Seeing that she is a middle-aged woman, I offered to help her carry the cocoyam home even though she did not need any help but I had thought how my parents would be proud of me after they heard what I did. Besides, her home is only a few walks away.

"Let me help you ma", I said in my innocent-sounding fifteen-year-old voice.

"Don't worry my dear, I am almost home", she said. This could have been my cue to continue my journey but I was determined to impress passersby who probably don't care.

"Let me help you ma", I insisted and after moments of going back and forth with her, she finally agreed.

She had helped me lift the basin to my head and I had walked with my head high, my chest out and my pride over my head towards her house. I couldn't wait to be seen. I couldn't wait for her to tell her friends who would tell their friends how well-mannered I am. I couldn't wait for the little gossip to reach my mother.

A few moments later, we reached her home where I dropped the cocoyam.

I was about to leave when she told me to wait. I had thought she wanted to give me a token of appreciation which I would have rejected to make me look more mannered.

I was wrong! "Come inside", she said. "Ok ma", I had replied with all enthusiasm.

"Please help me bring the gallon of water from the back of the house", she said. I made nothing of it. It's a usual thing to help with this kind of little thing when you are in another villager's house.

After I brought the gallon of water, she told me to empty it and help her fetch another one from a neighbour who had a borehole. I didn't like it but I didn't show it because I must make sure I show my good manners, not bad ones.

Well, that was the beginning of my downward slope towards a miserable day. Before I realized myself, I had fetched four gallons of water, washed the plates, gathered firewood and was about to set the fire to cook dinner when I got fed up with my good manners. I had sneaked out of the house when she wasn't looking.

Now she is calling me to make sure she ruined the good manners I had left. I gave up my reputation and pride to sneak out of the house. Surprisingly, I didn't hear any of my 'bad manners' from anyone including my parents.

"Somma! I know you can hear me, come I have an important message for your mother", she said. I stopped. "This woman is trying to make me feel bad", I thought to myself.

I started walking towards her.

"Good afternoon ma", I said as I stopped in front of her.

"Good afternoon my dear, how are you?" She inquired.

" I am fine, ma. You said you have a message for my mother".

"Yes dear", she said. "Tell your mother that she should remember to keep the chaff of corn I told her about for me."

"Ok ma", I said as I turned to leave.

"Wait", she said, "Please help me carry this bag to the front of my house".

I turned, looked at her, looked at the huge bag she rested on her left leg and I ran. I agree, I am not well-mannered.

So, you know that saying people use when you're eating too much, playing too much, or sleeping too much...? That too much of a good thing is not a good thing?

What if you had too much money?

Now, hear me out; enough to get by without worry is perfectly reasonable...

But when you, say... win the lottery... then things become a little LESS reasonable, ESPECIALLY if it's a giant amount, like, for example, say... over a billion.

Why would it be a bad thing?

Imagine, if you will... being an anti-social person, and you, for laughs, buy a ticket, completely forget about it, snore your way through the lottery numbers being called, and wake up the next day to random knocking on your front door.

Obviously, you'd assume it was the usual kind: kids wanting to mow your lawn, candy grams... door-to-door salesmen...

So, you open the door, about to tell them no or tell them off, and you're immediately met with reporters, shouting and asking how you'll spend the money.

After several minutes, you'll get them to calm down, and they'll tell you that you won the lottery... the lottery you entered for laughs... for over a billion dollars.

Once you get through that you didn't know you'd won, you'd ask them to leave, go back inside, and look into it...

Once it's determined that you DID, in fact, win, the unfortunate thing is... you can't back out of it... no matter what you try.

Your bank can't accept that much all at once, in small or large form... and you can't simply have a giant check given to you...

So, what seemed like a simple joke... turns into a giant problem because you need money to survive, so you can't just give it all away, but you also can't keep much of it because of people's perceptions... but the amount of people that would need the money is far too great in comparison to the money you'd have remaining after all your affairs were in order.

Now, stuck in a bind that you put yourself into... one has to wonder... would burning that ticket have made a better difference? Would you be better off with someone else having the burden instead?

It just goes to show... too much of a good thing isn't always the best thing... and sometimes. it might just be a big, bad, mistake.

I love sweet things, he was bittersweet,

His compliments and love were so neat.

I loved him, and I still do today,

But the sweetness has slowly gone away.

The sweetness had begun to fade,

His words were harsh and his moods were grave.

My throat was sore, my words were burned,

What I thought was sweet, had suddenly turned.

Too much of a good thing can be bad,

This I learned as I grew sad.

I used to love him, I still do,

But too much of his sweetness was not true.

It's time to accept this bittersweet truth,

Too much of a good thing is not so smooth.

I love him, I always will,

But it's time to accept this bitter pill.

Indulgence. Once it was well meaning - I would luxuriate in all the delicious morsels I could get my hands on. He would indulge me.

Eat. Eat. Eat. Even once I was full I could only eat. Overwhelmed by this fervent urge to consume. It wasn't noticeable for quite a while, until my family got worried. They hadn't seen me in three years. I miss them. I miss them, but I could never see them. Not now. He's the only one who loves me. The only one who could ever love me like this.

The room is dark. It's become dank over time, what with the leak quietly drip-dripping at a soft monotonous pace. I can hardly breathe anymore. Every time he comes down I end up vomiting on myself, but I just can't stop eating. Eat. Eat. Eat.

I start to feel disgusting. I know I'm a wretched creature, bloated and covered in oily grime. Yet, I always forget. As he thrusts spoonful after spoonful into my mouth with that smile on his face, I can't help trying to smile back as I scarf down all the nutrients he gives me. I choke sometimes; it's hard enough to breathe without food obstructing my throat. Yet he just smiles at me so softly, silently encouraging me to keep going.

I do so greedily. Nobody else would be here. Nobody else should be here. It's just us. It can only be us. I'll do anything he wants me to if only to see that smile. I choke, bile rising in my throat and thrusting all the food I'd just been fed down my chest. I feel embarrassed, but he smiles wider. I shakily smile back as he brings the spoon to my lips again. Just once more, this last time, I allow myself to revel in his smile.