One of my cherished delights in childhood was a cold bowl of fishhead soup. The gelatin glistened around the eyeball, the delicate crunch of the cartilage, and the tender flesh melted like the dreams I used to have.
I don’t usually do much on my birthdays. I sit on the blue couch. I play with some toys. I bathe myself alongside some more toys (it’s a birthday special). Somehow I managed to get through five of such birthdays.
A crimson scarf is what I want for my 6th birthday, I thought to myself, to wrap around my beloved toy, Lily. The way it would brighten her day! I imagined the soft fabric gliding through my fingers, and her buoyant breasts under my hot palm.
The big day arrived. My eyes obviously caught sight of the bowl of soup. Joy bubbled within me. As I wished, I also received a crimson scarf.
The gentle breeze playing with my hair as I dressed Lily. With each loop and tie, I told her stories of our grand adventures, of fairy queens and secret gardens hidden from view.
The scarf fluttered like a banner. A symbol of our bond, unbreakable and true. In that moment, Lily and I were limitless.
I could smell the savory aroma from the fish soup wafting through the air at the same time. Two of my favourite things, fish soup and Lily. I long to cradle this moment. To forever feel the softness of Lily.
I pulled out Lily’s right eyeball out of her socket and my left eyeball out of mine. They are left swimming in my soup while I wanked off. The gelatin around the eyeballs was good lubricant so it didn’t take long.
“Together”, I whispered, “we create something beautiful”.
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