The cat on the mantle was conducting experiments

The cat on the mantle was conducting experiments in gravity. It was trying to prove the hypothesis, "If you push something hard enough, it will fall over."

The cat was desperate on a level that feline's should never go. The object of her desire was always just beyond her paw. Her desperation made her crouch and just stare, transfixed

for hours until something caught her attention and she would wander off to investigate, maybe wash her face awhile, get a bite to eat, and then return to crouch and just stare

into the oven hoping her soufflé would rise. The crushing disappointment when it didn't led her to reject egg based puddings for about 5 years until she inherited a recipe from her

long-lost grandmother, Krepuskula Grigorievna Romanova. "Look into the mirror on a dark winter's night," said her recipe, "and ask me about soufflés." She trembled as she

read the translated cuneiform from her long lost grandmother's recipebook. As she stared into the compact mirror, she asked, "How do I make a souffle?" Suddenly, a ghostly face app

eared in the mirror. "Practice," came the whispered reply. *Sigh* I'd heard that one before. I closed the compact mirror. "Wait, don't shut me up in here again!"

I quickly shoved the compact into my purse & snapped it shut to drown out its voice. I wasn't the fairest of them all, I wasn't good enough, I wasn't...I wasn't WHITE enough.

If only I was whiter than this. The world would be complete. Instead I sit here upon my throne of lies and watch the world burn. This is my story. This is my fate. It is not mine.