By: Avery Lin

Crack! The bowl of ramen noodles,

Bought from the granny on the side of the street,

Fell.

Our hopes, our dreams of ever eating it disapparate

The skinny noodles fall onto the floor coated with dirt.

The noodles, now cold, are swimming in the dust inside of the cracks on the floor.

Time slows. I feel as if I am in a dream.

I see myself picking the noodles up

Dust coats my hand but the noodles are instantly dirt – free.

I let the noodles slip from my fingers.

They instantly become coated with dust again.

I pick them up and shove the noodles into my mouth.

I do not taste the bitterness of dust.

Nor the grassy taste of dirt.

I taste the juicy ramen noodles, fresh from the microwave

And still swimming with spices in my mouth

In my mind, I am dimly aware of my parents, my grandparents, and my sister watching me.

I ignore them.

I swirl my tongue around my mouth and then I swallow.

Suddenly there is nothing in my mouth nor throat nor stomach.

My stomach is still growling as loud as a lion

And my mouth is juice-free.

I stare around the room.

My relatives and family haven’t moved from their places.

I look at the heavily dust-covered clock.

I use my hand to wipe the dust from the clock.

It seems like the time hasn’t moved,

Or perhaps the clock is broken.

I can hear my grandpa sigh

“That’s the last time we’ll ever see those noodles again,” he says.

I pick up my shoe and look underneath it.

In the cracks in the floor beneath my shoe are the noodles,

Now dyed gray and brown with bits of rock lodged in them.

I pick one up and nearly recoil at the feel of it.

If you’ve ever touched something slimy and smooth and disgusting,

This is what it feels like.

Sadly, I go to bed, hungry.

Sadly, I pull on the covers, still hungry.

And sadly, I fall asleep dreaming about noodles.