I was only twelve when I realised what was going on. I was only seventeen when someone else must have figured it out. It was a strange sensation, one that had puzzled me for years before. I don’t know how I can taste it, and I don’t know why. All I know is how I knew everyone was miserable that day.
It was a chilly September morning, with the grass outside covered in a white blanket of frost, and the fog lying low. Mother had prepared pancakes just the way I liked them, with bacon and maple syrup on top. I sat at our wooden dining table that was rough with age, and she placed the plate right in front of me. She smiled, and then continued on with the dishes. I looked down at my plate, and soaked the pancake in maple syrup. As soon as I took the first bite I could taste it. It was horrible, and it made me want to cry. It wasn’t the pancake - Mother’s pancakes were always delicious - it was the emotion. The pancake reeked of sadness, making my throat close up and my eyes fill with liquid. I looked up at mother, who was standing against the bench facing away from me, using the sink to wash dishes. She seemed to be fine to me. I quickly got up, leaving my half-eaten pancakes on the table, grabbed my bag, and went over to Sabrina’s.
Sabrina Warren was my best friend, who was only two days older than me. She lived in a loving household just down the road, with two brothers and her parents. Her house welcomed me with a gush of warm air as I opened the front door, and I walked into the kitchen, where the boys and Sabrina’s mother were eating breakfast. “Natalie, come sit, have some breakfast. I made heaps of scrambled eggs!” she said, pulling out a chair at the table. I sat down, and grabbed my plate. I was still hungry seeing as I hadn’t eaten all of my pancakes at home, so I gobbled up a big spoonful of Mrs Warren’s eggs quickly. But as soon as I swallowed it I tasted it again. The sadness. I looked at Mrs Warren, who was smiling as she was talking to her sons. This doesn’t make sense. Why does it taste sad?
After an eventful morning filled with below zero temperatures and two breakfasts, I took the bus to school with Sabrina, and we talked for the duration. As soon as we were about to get off, she handed me a ball of tinfoil. “What’s this?” I asked, with my face scrunched up in question.
“Just take it, and eat it. I made it for you!” She said, glowing with excitement.
“Why does it look like a bomb?” I asked her jokingly. She laughed and replied
“It’s not a bomb, please just try it.” I opened the tinfoil packaging and inside was a squished up cupcake, with pink icing smothered all over the tinfoil and the cupcake.
“Looks nice. Presentation ten out of ten from me.” I giggled. I took a bite, hoping that it didn’t taste as heinous as the last bit of baking she had made me. I nearly spat it back out when I tasted it.
“Again?” I said aloud.
“What? It’s not that bad is it? Nat please, it can’t be as bad as the cookie. The cookie was literally charcoal.” She said, disappointedly.
“No, no it's not that I promise. I think I just have a sore tooth.” I said, as I was studying her emotions. She also seemed to look happy enough to me, despite the fact that she was disappointed in her baking. So what was this overwhelming sadness?
At lunchtime I went out to have lunch with Chris, another friend of mine. He lived on the other side of town, so I took the train to meet him. We were originally going to go to a cafe, but he decided that we should have something homemade in the park instead. We sat down on the picnic table, and he opened up the container that was filled with homemade baking. There were croissants, sandwiches, pastries, basically any type of lunch food that I had ever seen. It all looked so delicious, and my smile beamed at the boy who had made it all for me. He looked at me and said “You know, I’m really going to miss you.” with a saddened smile on his face. I was extremely confused. Miss me? Where was he going? Where am I going?
“What do you mean ‘miss me’?” I smiled. Suddenly his face dropped, like he had just accidentally spoiled something for me during a movie.
“Oh, I haven’t told you that I’m moving away have I?” he said, looking redeemed. “Yeah, I’m moving to just behind the coffee shop on Fosters Lane.” I rolled my eyes at him. He’s lived at the house behind the coffee shop of Fosters Lane for nearly three years now.
“Dude, I knew that. What, so you just felt the need to update me after three years?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Hah, yeah I guess so.” He replied. I grabbed a ham and cheese croissant out of the container and took a bite. No. Not again. Why? What is happening? I felt weak and I nearly let tears escape my eyes. Chris didn’t even look sad at all. Why was I able to taste his sadness?
Just as I was about to leave the park and say goodbye to Chris I got a call from my mother. She asked me where I was, and growled at me for not being at my appointment at the hospital. “What? What on earth are you talking about? I never had an appointment at the hospital!” I yelled into the phone. She sighed, and then continued to lecture me over the phone.
When I arrived she was waiting in the waiting room, sitting in between a very elderly man and a woman holding a screaming toddler. She stood up, and took me over to the receptionist. “This is Natalie. She has an appointment for ten minutes ago” Mother said as she gave me an evil stare. The receptionist herded us over into the hallway, where we were pulled into a room. I was told strictly that I must lie down on the cold white hospital bed, while the nurses and surgeons got ready for the procedure. My eyes widened and I started to shake. Procedure? Surgeons? I looked over at my mother in fear. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at me, but the receptionist swiftly turned her away and pushed her out of the room, closing the door behind her.
A surgeon wearing a white coat then walked in. He was a tall man, of about six foot and two inches. He had a cleanly shaven face and slicked back jet black hair. “I assume you don’t know what is going on right now, do you Natalie?” I looked up at him, trembling, but said nothing. “Well, we realised that your brain was far more complex than anything that we had ever seen. You have only unlocked some of its full potential.” He said as he paced back and forth in front of me. “We have only ever seen something like this once, in a similar girl of about your age. Her name was Florence Harper and her family brought her into this same hospital around 18 years ago. They claimed that she had gone mad. But the thing is, she was much smarter than any of them. By a person’s touch she gained a lot of knowledge about them. You know like their age, favourite colour, language they spoke etcetera etcetera. Similar to you, who can taste someone’s feelings by the food they prepare.” What? How did this random surgeon know what I could do? That was a secret between me and myself, otherwise anyone would think I was crazy! “All of your food was sad today, wasn’t it?” He asked. I nodded. “That’s because today, we have to remove your brain. You are going to die.” I went to jump out of the bed, but soon realised that the receptionist from before had tied me to it. “We need to remove your brain strictly for scientific purposes and research. We need to find out what is happening in your head, to see if the rest of us could possibly unlock the same potential with ours.”
That was why all of my food was miserable today. That was why everyone in my life was sad. They all knew my secret. They all knew I was going to die.
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