Nibbles
Yuck! I’m so sick of these bland, grainy power bars. Yet I continue to gnaw away,
bit by bit, hoping the flavor will somehow become tolerable. My best friend, Tiff, promises these are good for my tummy. Her smile beams down upon me whenever she comes
home from the grocery store with the latest health food craze. Placebos disguised as
crunch bars, which supposedly prolong my life. I’m a sucker for wanting to see Tiff happy, so I oblige her fountain of youth schemes. Tiff is the sweetest girl I know, which is
ironic because her stepdad, Jack, is a huge jerk. He enjoys telling Tiff, constantly, that he’s
going to “feed” me to the neighbors’ hungry dogs. Why? It’s like he spins the Wheel of
Misfortune, only every winning turn equals terrorizing an innocent girl: a B Minus packed
report card, not keeping her room clean to his militaristic standards, or for the plain fact
that Tiff is “soft” for taking me in and caring for me when I was orphaned. “My home
isn’t an orphanage, Tiffany,” or “you’re so sensitive, Tiffany, the world’s going to eat you
alive,” are common phrases.