Placation | Teen Ink


May 27, 2022
By Samhradh GOLD, Carlisle, Pennsylvania
Samhradh GOLD, Carlisle, Pennsylvania
18 articles 2 photos 61 comments

Favorite Quote:
Dá fhada an lá tagann an tráthnóna.

(No matter how long the day, evening comes)

            Twyla sneered to herself and bit her lip. The raindrops were rolling down the window in torrents mocking the pitiful drops coursing down her face. She swiped underneath her eye, careful not to smudge the dark eyeliner there. The corner of her thumb was ragged, she tugged the sleeve of her thermal shirt down to cover it.

            She hopped up off the windowsill and walked downstairs. The TV blared the news channel, with a white banner and bold black print streaming across the bottom. It read:


She turned on her heels and bit her tongue, then shuffled into the kitchen. Twyla peered into the fridge scanning for something to fill the gaping hole inside her. She licked her lips and her eyes landed on the cheese in the back of the fridge.

A little tune began to play in her mind, and the touch of a smile graced her lips. She grabbed a paring knife, a cutting board, and the speaker. She blasted some “Beat It” by Michael Jackson and the music wove into her joints and hips. She cut the cheese uniformly, laid it out on a plate for herself with some baby gherkin pickles, and ate and danced. The gnawing feeling of guilt nibbled at her happiness, and yet she danced.

The vinegary taste of the pickles made the corners of her mouth tilt upward. She did a little Charleston-esque dance with her feet and let out a small unrestrained chuckle. With all her bravery summoned, she went back into the living room with the TV still on, still blaring the messages.

Her hand reached for the remote and she held it for a moment. It was cold and unyielding in her hand, with the tiny lights beckoning her to press all the channel buttons.  It took all of her resolve to turn it off. When it was off, she could still feel the tickle in her brain, that itch to watch again and to be consumed by guilt. She was obsessed. What happens next? Who died? How many? I wanna know, her brain hissed.

Instead of giving in, reaching for her phone and getting on Twitter to fill the void inside her with more statistics, she sat down. A huge breath of air settled into her lungs, and she ate the food that made her happy and thought of nothing but the taste of it in her mouth.

The author's comments:

Careful what you give your attention to.

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