Fiction: “Placed Reluctantly on a Pedestal”

By Bridget Rose, 18
Illinois

Art by Annie Cheng, 17
Taiwan

Completely covered and concealed beneath a creamy veil, as if bashful in apprehension of your newfound attention. Hiding in horror, awaiting your debut as the cold frosting melts and seeps into your pores, still warm from the oven, the vault of your refuge. It was safe there. Dark, hot, invigorating, a life force from which you were strenuously thrust.

Within the oven, you were given life. As you grew, your fluffy pores emitted an enticing fragrance. Cold winds often swept through as the oven door was opened by faces with joyously curious expressions, popping in and out. The door closed again. You were still safe, not yet ready to emerge.

But with each opening and closing of the oven door, the surrounding room appeared more adorned, and the pack of watering mouths had grown. You watched through the window as the children with joyous smiles beat a colorful cake piñata hanging from a tree. They continued to beat it into submission, so much so that it exploded into a barrage of little pieces of candy that fly everywhere. Will this be your fate?

Now, you watch as they pull out a huge, sharp, shiny knife. As you look with terror, you can see your reflection in its steely glow. You look changed:  taller, darker, and firmer. It is time.

Joyous celebration penetrates your curtain of icing.  Your reluctant presence is the main attraction. Burning, waxy poles are thrust through your skin. A sharp sheet of metal rips off your disguise, utterly exposing you to the ugly truth.  Cringing, you witness the many faces fixed upon you. But what you see is not what you expected.

So why be afraid, little cake? Why hide when you are put on a pedestal? You are the source of so much joy. A little boy looks longingly at you with wistful, happy eyes. This is where you belong.