Vivian
I was not eating this.
I stared at the gray-green slop on the plastic tray, eyebrows raised, nostrils flaring. It was supposed to be stew, or soup, or whatever excuse they were calling food this week, but it smelled like damp socks and sadness. I was used to caviar and the finest cuts of meat on the continent. No one could expect me to eat this. I was better than this.
“No thank you,” I said with a forced smile, placing the tray firmly back on the counter. “This is inedible.”
The volunteer behind the counter, some woman with too many kids and too little patience, frowned at me. “ Not eating again? You're not gonna be able to keep your strength up like this.”
“Then bring me something edible."
"It is edible. And if you don't like it, you can continue not to eat."
She took the
