Broccoli

- Shehrose Mian -

Noum poked and prodded the vegetables and fruits on his plate. "Eat your broccoli, Noum." Despite his mother s scolding, he continued to sculpt his plate. He lined his green beans on top of each other, creating rolling hills of emerald. He gathered his corn together on the top corner of his plate, a radiating sun that spilled light upon his legumes. "Noum, don't play with your food. Listen to your mother." Diced tomatoes became flowers; blueberries formed the sky. The bare white plate,wispy clouds that followed the engraved scratches that adorned the dish from overuse. "Do your homework, Noum," said his mother. Brussels sprouts shaped bushy brows of a man walking with no care. Celery stalksmoved and danced—sprightly legs carrying him across the field. "Come with me," said the vegetable man to which Noum whispered okay. He followed the man through the green pastures of his plate—through the valleys a few miles yonder. They trekked the trail without saying a word; they simply took in the sites: the carrot-tinged rocks of the rifts and the potato-skin ground. "Noum, get a job," his father berated. Noum continued walking but the vegetable man vanished. He wandered about until the blueberry sky turned blackberry, the corn sun disappeared, and the rolling hills of green beans were no more. "Noum, Papa passed away," bawled his mother. Yet he took no notice. Banana lightning strikes spread across the sky. The wispy clouds of white turned gray with dirt and grime. Noum continued walking, but his gait slowed to a crawl. His celery stalk legs, dehydrated and brittle, couldn't last much longer. "Noum, eat your broccoli!" Noum turned to his mother and ate his last piece of broccoli.