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Monday, June 5, 2017

The last supper.

The anticipation for the feast was vibrant.  At the 5 rows of Hogwarts-esque table, the guests sat. Dressed in their Sunday best, they murmured about how the black, maroon and gold theme resembled that of a palace . They were,undeniably, flattered to be invited to an event of such a grandeur . The room, roughly the size of a football field, housed everyone . Not even one name on the list was left out. In fact, months prior to the feast, she went all out to arrange transport for those from other continents who were constrained financially. It was important to her that everyone she ever knew in her lifetime to be there. Same place, same time.


Then the food was served. The waiters served elegantly in a uniformly white mask .

"DIG IN!" , rang a voice through an intercom . It was, unmistakably, hers.

 Yet nobody found it unsuspecting that she had not made an appearance yet , from the two hours it took everyone to show up and be seated to the time the food actually arrived. They were too distracted by their hunger. At once, their pupils dilated in excitement. It was indeed, a feast fit for a king. With an array of seafood, fresh vegetables, different styles of chicken--baked, stir fried, drenched in sauce, different styles of pastries, curries, and desserts all presented at once.

10 minutes in, it was clear that some guests were experiencing discomfort. More than ten people complained of a sudden tingling sensation stemming from their fingers and toes. Around this point she makes an entrance. And what an entrance it was. In a body con maroon velvet dress, she walked down the staircase to greet everyone, responded with nothing less than a roaring applause and cheers. Half of those present had not seen her in years. The other half who saw her a little more frequently recalled how she had fallen completely below the radar just some months back, withdrawing from all forms of social media and how she had stopped showing up to work. She wore a smirk on her face, as she noticed the confused looks on everyone and watched some guests visibly turn red and sweat. Then, the itching began.

"Just as I thought." the voice rang on the intercom again.

By then, the itching morphed into something worse, --a choking sensation. At this point, some were already on the floor, gripping onto the carpet for dear life. One by one, those who were affected breathed their last breaths. The unaffected ones were too scared to move. They looked at her, startled with how unaffected she was, observing the horrendous chain of events unfolding before her. It was clear that the ambiance had shifted to one of pure panic and terror.

Standing there, she took a couple of seconds before she uttered, in an unbecoming monotone; "There, done and dusted."

With only three days left to live, and millions accumulated in wealth, everything was going according to plan. They had to feel her power, her wrath and, (pardon the pun), a taste of their own medicine.

 Her obsession with knowing who was what , the amount of times she was abandoned by the same people who she imagined would never give up on her-- coupled with her discovery of the short span of time she had to be alive drove her to lunatic ends. The plan had to be completely eradicated of suspicion, and required a mini break from the world. Upon learning of her terminal illness, she worked closely with a team of scientists to concoct a lethal solution which would  kill anyone who was two-faced, spoke ill of her, backstabbing and secretly hated the sight of her. Sure, there were some who she did not expect to see, get affected. But at least now she knew. She knew, and she was content.

..."What are they going to do, kill me?"