aubergine the eggplant painting.

Aubergine woke up from a dreamless sleep on that Tuesday. she couldn't tell time, even though a big red clock arrogantly hung to her left. she only experienced time, slowly.... and inevitably, with a tinge of regret. the clock reminded her daily that she was a one dimensional piece of art, imprisoned on a canvas, in the kitchen of her enemy. this afternoon seemed to be no different than any other. she simply hung, in the same place, on the same yellow wall, venturing only into her thoughts. on afternoons like these she'd think of love and family. she'd wonder if other eggplants were ever immortalized with pain. aubergine would, in these long hours of boredom imagine what life would have been like if she still lived in the garden, as a young tangible vegie. BUT THEN.... her musings were interrupted by the violent odor of something that smelled like burning.... flesh? aubergine started to panic. her painted contours began to tremble. she had no real flesh to burn.... where was this stench coming from?

the fire alarm started its usual summoning of dinner, and from the darkness of the next room emerged the Vegetarian. then aubergine saw her--- laying lifelessly on the frying pan.

"Mom?".

what an unforeseen conflict aubergine thought sadly.

Part II.

aubergine couldn't toss in her sleep because she couldn't actually move. but if she could have tossed during those dreams she would have. tossed, and danced and even giggled. in those dreams she would be 3 D, and five feet tall; she would have little purple arms and lovely purple hands. she'd be mincing that Vegetarian. She would be smothering her with tomato sauce, and cloaking her with cheese. In a Pyrex coffin. the Vegetarian wouldn't cry or smile or talk or plea, she'd just lay there, marinating in basil and olive oil from the night before. Aubergine would feel empowered and alive, as she'd slide the vegetarian in the preheated oven to cook for the next 45 minutes. aubergine would then dust off her lovely little eggplant hands, on her lovely little purple apron and smile. but before eating, she'd take out her paints and create an immortalizing portrait of the vegetarian now broiled in damn sauce and cheese. There on the yellow wall she'd hang her painting in the empty space where aubergine herself once hung.

for this was aubergine's dream. her immortal hope.