Counterfeit Feast

Hunger burned in my belly. Most of the time it was a dull ache that I could distract myself from, but there were moments when it turned into a pain I couldn’t ignore. This was one of those times. I went over to the cupboard and looked for something to take the bite off the pain in my stomach. There wasn’t much to be found. There were a few small bags of chips and a couple of half-eaten candy bars. I took one out and broke a piece off. Not exactly what you’d call a healthy meal, but it would do. I sat down at my old creaky table – the only one I’d ever known. I didn’t actually think it was that bad because I didn’t remember experiencing anything else. Sure, it was falling apart and covered in stains from all kinds of drink spills, but it did the job. There were some nicer looking ones in the magazine that I often flipped through, but those weren’t real. I had never seen someone actually own one of those. The pictures in the magazine were pretend people with pretend lives. My life was the only one I’d ever lived and it did not involve fancy tables and especially not the steaming food that I saw in those pictures.

Nope, my life consisted of an old, dirty table in an old, dirty room, with only chips and candy bars to eat – and even that was running out. I had never left this room – or at least not that I can remember – and no one had ever visited me. It was lonely sometimes. I really just tried to forget my life by flipping through the magazine and dreaming of a life far different from my own. I had given up cleaning the place and even the window I used to like looking out of had filmed over with grime and dust. I really had no idea what I was doing here and it wasn’t worth the effort to try to figure it out.

Every once in a while – hard to say if it was weeks or months (it’s hard to keep track of time here) – a small package comes through the mail slot in the door containing a small amount of the “food” that I survive off of. I have no idea who it is or why they keep me here. I know only what they‘ve told me in our few exchanges through the door. Most of the time, there‘s no answer when I speak, but there have been a handful of times that a voice responded to me through the cracked wood that keeps me here. The first time we spoke I didn’t expect an answer to my question, but I still had to ask.

“Who are you?” I whispered through the door for what must be the hundredth time. Instead of the quickly vanishing footsteps that I normally heard, I was surprised by the gravelly voice that responded.

“Don’t go asking questions that you don’t want the answer to,” I heard the scuffling footsteps on the other side of the door as the voice turned to leave.

“Wait, please,” I called out with renewed desperation, hoping they would stop to answer more of my questions. I heard the footsteps halt. “Why am I here?” Only silence answered me. “Who put me here? Please, I just want to know who put me here.” There was a pause as the footsteps came closer to the door. My heart began to beat faster at the thought of receiving some answer to why I was here.

“You don’t remember?” The voice scratched painfully like one who had inhaled many cigarettes over the years.

Of course, I didn’t remember. Frustrated, I responded, “No, I don’t remember. I don’t understand. Why am I here? Who put me here?” I desperately tried to search my memory for how I got here, but saw a big, black void of emptiness wherever I looked. “I don’t remember. Who was it?”

A heavy exhale sounded outside the door. “Girl, you did.”

My stomach dropped. My intense hunger eclipsed by the pain of regret. “I did? What do you mean? I didn’t choose this. Why would I choose this?”

“I don’t know why you chose it, but you chose it just the same. Now you have to live with the consequences.” I heard the dragging footsteps outside the door fading as they moved further away from me. I sat dumbfounded by the response I had acquired. The answer I had received only bred more questions in my mind.

It was weeks later before I had another chance to speak with whomever it was that delivered my food. Not that I hadn’t tried to ask my questions - futile as it was, “Why would I choose this awful place? Was there nothing better? Why can’t I remember?” But more often than not, I was greeted by the sound of retreating footsteps and no answers to my questions.

Then one day, I heard the squeak of the mail slot and the small thump of the package as it hit the floor. I waited for the sound of the delivery person’s footsteps, but didn’t hear anything.

“Are you there?” I heard a voice through the door. I froze, wanting to grab onto the sound of the voice, but knowing it would slip away whether I wanted it to or not.

“I’m here,” I bit my lip as I walked toward the voice.

“You asked why you chose this awful place,” the voice had that same painful scratching sound, as if it hurt the speaker to talk louder than a whisper. I leaned my back against the door and slid down to the floor, my ear ending up next to the mail slot.

“Yes, why would I choose it? Why can’t I remember?”

“It wasn’t always awful. It was once beautiful. Or at least, appeared beautiful.” Confusion filled my mind. I couldn’t remember it ever being anything other than what it was now. The voice continued, “You were given a choice and you chose this place. I suppose you didn’t realize what you were choosing, but still you chose it.”

“Was I given no other choice? Was there no alternative better than this?” I looked around the room I sat in with a mixture of disgust and sadness.

“Oh, you were given an alternative. But you did not want it. The farmer pleaded with you, but you chose the prince.” “The prince? What prince?”

The speaker sighed, then spoke, “This is the way it is with all those like you. Those who choose the prince always end up like this.”

“Like what? Tell me about the prince. Please,” I placed my hand against the door, “don’t leave.”

I heard some scraping on the other side of the door and a grunt as it sounded like the speaker sat down. “The prince is...well, not what he appears to be. He is beautiful and strong and his speech is as sweet as honey. He takes you from the field, flatters you and gives you whatever you desire, until you believe yourself hopelessly in love with him. When he knows that you will choose him over anything else, he gives you a choice – to live with him in his palace or to go back to work the fields. Most choose him without thought. I mean, why would you not? A life of ease and riches with one as beautiful as him? It would seem crazy to not choose him.”

Something stirred in my memory as the speaker told me about the prince. “He took me from the field? And...spoke to me?”

“Yes, you and many others. It was a hard life in the fields. You worked all day in the heat of the sun, often wondering when the rain would come. You slept in small shacks and ate the produce of the field. You grew weary of working so hard and eating the same things. You grew dissatisfied. And the prince knew it. That’s why he invited you to his palace. And you came. You left the fields and came to the prince. He gave you a life of ease and pleasure. He put you in beautiful clothing and showered you with compliments. When he asked you to stay in the palace with him, you gladly said yes. He gave you your own room. It was exactly what you told him you wanted.”

The information turned in my mind, sparking memories from long ago. “And the farmer? You said he pleaded with me. Who was he?”

“Ah, wisdom never does look so beautiful at first. A wise old fool, I guess you could call him. Never could understand why he would love the ones that don’t want him. He could see right through the prince – and he wanted you to too. But by that point, you were so enamoured with the prince that you didn’t even notice him pleading with you. He kept telling you that it wouldn’t last and that it wouldn’t make you happy, but you had eyes only for the prince.”

“Was I happy?” I adjusted my body to a more comfortable position by the door.

“Sure, for little while. But it turns out the farmer was right. It didn’t last. Like I said, your room wasn’t always awful. At first it was the beautiful room that you always wanted. The prince brought you here and you loved it. You ate what he gave you – which was far more interesting and desirable than what you used to eat in the field – and you lived like a queen. But, as always happens, it faded. The beauty was only temporary. Soon, your room got dirty and fell into disrepair. Your body began to grow sick from the lack of good nutrition and the delicacies of the palace took their toll on your immune system. As your room and body fell apart, so did your mind. The prince never loved you, of course. He just wanted you to believe that for awhile. So no one visited you and you forgot who you were and where you came from. It happens this way with most who choose the prince. He can be very convincing.”

My face scrunched with the anxiety eating me inside, “So that’s it? This is my life now? Forever?”

“Pretty much, ya. Though the farmer keeps hoping you’ll change your mind,” the speaker snorted, “I told you he was an old fool.”

“How do you know?” I asked quietly.

“Know what? That he’s a fool?”

“No, that he’s...still hoping.”

“Ah, well, he makes that pretty clear with his daily visits,” the speaker grunted in displeasure.

“Daily visits? What do you mean? I’ve never even heard his voice.”

Tsk. Tsk. “Of course not. You’ve long since blocked out his voice. He comes by at the end of the day and knocks on every door. Most of you can’t hear him though. He knocks pretty quietly. Seems kind of pointless to me, but everyday he’s here again – knocking.”

“But why would he knock? We couldn’t even open the door if we wanted to. We’re stuck here, right?”

The speaker chuckled, “I don’t know why you’ve all got that in your heads. It was your choice to come here and it’s your choice to stay. I mean, the prince wouldn’t be too happy if you left, but the door is unlocked. If you wanted to leave, you’d just have to open the door.”

My heart pounded inside my chest. I could just walk out? I got to my feet. I could be free of this place so easily? I could just open the door and go. My heart faltered. Go where? This place was clearly not what I thought it would be. And I’m sure I would not be welcome in the fields again. Maybe there was no where to go. Really, I deserved this anyway. I chose it – of my own free will. At least I had food here, right? Doubt assailed my mind.

I heard some scraping outside the door as the speaker stood up. “Well,” the raspy voice came through the door laced with apathy, “I’d better get back to work now. I hope you enjoy the prince’s hospitality.” The speaker’s shuffling footsteps faded into nothing.

With my mind still reeling from all the information I had just gleaned, I made my way to the table and sat heavily on one of the chairs. As I did, a loud crack filled the room and I found myself on the ground, my rump stinging with the unexpected contact. I put my head in my hands and sighed. This is not the life I wanted. Yet, I chose it. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, threatening to explode if I didn’t distract myself soon. A sense of hopelessness washed over me and I pulled myself off the floor and walked over to the cupboard. With a deep self-loathing, I grabbed a handful of candy bars and brought them to the table, sitting – more gingerly this time – on the other available chair. As I sat staring at the candy bars, the information the speaker had given me churned in the back of my mind. It was like a stormy sea, waves tossing this way and that, threatening to destroy any who might venture out upon the waters. I was in the middle of this raging torrent when a sound cut through the storm – it was the sound of a gentle ‘knock knock’ at the door.