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LyraLynne

United States

Was born in a small US town and has always loved reading and writing. Was inspired by JK Rowling to start writing. Was diagnosed with cancer in 2012 and went through chemotherapy in 2015. All is good now. Loves fall and winter and their holidays.

Message to Readers

This is a very difficult topic for me to talk about, so I'd appreciate it if you read and maybe left a comment or like. Let me know what I can fix in my writing with a review too if you want. Thanks guys. You're the real MVPs

Hell's Kitchen

May 16, 2018

    Shutting my eyes was the only thing that kept the world from spinning. The blinding white lights and horrific smells twisted their way into my head making everything blurry. It didn't help that I was so very hungry. People kept trying to give me food, but, even without opening my eyes I could taste it. Pure cardboard that felt heavy in your mouth as if you were trying to chew a paperweight.
    The thundering of my stomach grew louder so I peeked through my closed eyelid. Nothing. Today was a special day. I was feeling particularly non-disgusting so my family was going to bring me pizza from outside my sterilized prison. Domino's Pizza, my all-time favorite. I imagined savoring the mouth-watering, garlicky, slice of heaven. The bread squeezing between my teeth and resting on my tongue, the sauce slipping into my mouth and the taste of warm tomato sauce and melted cheese filling my head with memories of home.
    I sighed as a brief whiff of hand sanitizer drags me back into reality. The nurse smiles warmly as she walks up to check the IV bag and my vitals. I ignored her by pretending to focus on the book in front of me when in reality, I could only think about my eventual starvation and the food that had not gotten here yet. To pass the time, I snacked on a giant bag of watermelon jolly ranchers on the bed next to me. After about the 15th one, I felt churning in my stomach. The once refreshing sugary treat had become the weapon of my destruction. 
    I drank about 4 water bottles full of water and that still didn't wash the taste out of my mouth. The feeling of throwing up crossed my stomach but I held it back. I was going to get to eat that pizza. 
    After a long time waiting, I finally saw the door open and my family walked in. The warm scent of cheese and hope seemed to elevate me and raise me into deliverance. My mother handed me a medium cheese pizza entirely for me. I didn't have it in my possession for two seconds before I was starting to devour it. The melty, stringy goo slipped across my tastebuds as I ate without leaving time to savor. All of a sudden, it was halfway gone. I could feel my convulsing gut rejecting the food but I didn't care. It tasted so good. 
    The time flew by and the pizza was devoured within 10 minutes. After I was done, I stopped chewing and immediately felt the loss. An aftertaste of garlic and bread filled my nasal cavity and for a while, all I could smell, taste, and breath was pizza. Soon, that passed, and I returned to the silent stupor that had become my life for one week a month. Later that night though, I felt the worst of the side effects.
    I was in bed when I again felt the tell-tale signs of puking. A tugging in my gut, my throat opening, dry heaving, before I felt an acidic pain rise in my chest. I threw my covers off and raced toward a pink bucket on the other side of the room, ignoring the giant IV pole I was attached to. Just in time, I made it there. My mother, the only one left at the building, went down to say goodbye to my father and sisters so I was alone.
    I heaved and heaved as the remains of my dinner went from me to the bowl. It came out of my mouth in a rush, and when I tried to hold it back, it came out my nose in a painful exhalation of gunk. Even after it was over, I could still feel it. I crawled back into bed with a different bucket, curled up in a ball and dry heaved into the pink container which was the symbol of my pain. 
    Even now, over two years after that experience, I cannot eat or even smell Domino's pizza or watermelon Jolly Ranchers without being sent back to that hell-hole. Sometimes I think about how much I enjoyed the taste beforehand and thought about eating it again. But then, I unknowingly remind myself of that feeling. The food I used to love was now the representation of my misery. For hell can be a hospital, but it is also a kitchen.
Explanation in bio. Thanks for reading. 

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2 Comments
  • LyraLynne

    Thank you!


    3 days ago
  • AbiJoy

    You are a really good writer, I feel like I was there! :0


    3 days ago