How Did it Feel to be Eaten?
By Amit Gupta
“I was an elderberry,” I announced, glowing with pride.
“How did it feel to be eaten?” he asked.
It seemed an odd question, but a response came unbidden, so I voiced it, “It was an honor.” My words surprised me, but they felt true.
“The Queen of England ate me,” I added. How did I know this? Who was he? My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I didn’t feel like a berry. Did berries feel embarrassed?
“I didn’t know she was the Queen at the time,” I admitted.
“Yes,” agreed the man who I could not see and did not know. “Let’s try another.”
I was in again and felt immensely powerful. I sparkled in the sun. The land beneath me rose, I stood, and I felt a caress on my shoulder. A child. We danced. I rolled, crested, and rumbled; she banked and cut on her board, gliding gracefully along me, her speed blowing droplets of me right off her wetsuit. We became one.
We reached the shore, and I crumbled, making room for others like me, and others like her.
That was a short one.