THE POTATO’S TALE

I’m brown. I’m fat, well obese. I am plain inside, blank like mind of a new-born baby, silent and surreal, just that I seem simple. I wish I was part of my roots, like many of my friends, starting from underneath, basic and growing on it. I am more of stem than roots, more skin than bones, more fat than muscles, if I am differentiated for that then its’ sad. Sometimes I am.

Peel out every layer of my beautiful skin just because isn’t sweet, just because it holds all the sweat of tiresome work, all the bitter memories of subtle growth, you destroy the skin, cut, peel, remove. Then you see, I’m bare, naked. Cream with all my dreams, white like my soul, reflecting the tender nerves and veins that are now gullible, easy to shoot, easy to be killed.

You then decide how to tear me apart, well it can be done in many ways. You can do it length wise, finger shaped, or circular, like disks, or you throw, push and squeeze me into machine that stretches my cells in whichever shape you desire. Your choice on my life, you always take choices for others, be it kids or your food, give freedom and be controlled, you’ll know what it feels to be me.

Then you can decide my future depending on your mood, sometimes dilemma, sometimes certainty. You can dip me in hot boiling oil, burning my tissues, making it absorb all the oil just like what a concentrated acid would do on your palm, eat through, form pores and settle. Or you can just place it on a pan and heat up, dry but still make me cry, vain. Or well shut me down in water and cook under pressure, your pleasure, my nightmare. A lot of ways, then suddenly I become tasty? Sudden hopes and silent skull, soft, smooth and sweet.

The best part supposedly about my death is when you dip me in the oil one, best. I arise, yellowish brown in color, crisp in nature and simply delicious, for you. I’m still dying inside. You then delicately dip me in the blood of my friend, then slowly bite through, I seem amazing, you get addicted. You do this every-day, go to places far away to dry it, different locations supposedly imply variant taste, but it’s death, wherever you do it.

I then get an idea, I become the victim, I put my life in front of you on purpose, kill and have your happiness, take what you want. Do it every-day, all day. I now decide my destiny. I am not completely destroyed, I slightly survive, I live inside you. I am more fat than muscles just implies that you are now more fat than muscles and of course more skin than bones. I now absorb all your tissues and cells, go through your heart creating pores and settling in it, I swim through the capillaries, block your vessels, take some rest within your stomach and arms, then continue my journey. Take every inch of your so-called amazing body, making it soft and bulky. I make you fat, well obese, dull and delicate, lazy and lethargic. I live within you, inside you, safely dislodging myself controlling your future, your food, finally you lose freedom while I gain revenge- Yours Truly, The Brown, Fat Potato.

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