Unpopped.

         A sudden POP amongst the humming snapped my neck towards the heat. Drifting from the haunting sunshine came the whisper of grenades, an echo from my past that made me clench my fist and shut my eyes. It happened every time. As years were crammed into the minutes, I heard and waited for each pop, waited until nothing was left but the constant humming again. Nothing was ever left after the beatings, after the fire and the fireworks. I reached towards the amber light and turned the spluttering microwave off, staring at the blush of warmth that pitifully faded away. The crinkled bag within, held the gold the world was looking for. If only they knew what I never did. With sudden hate I grasped the smoking package and ripped it, ignoring the panting protests of my palms. Blossoms and blooms of the sweetest spilled out, and in that second I remembered everything. This was my quintessence of perfection. Never mind the yellow tinge that stained the edges of each shard; never mind the imperfections in their geometric shapes or the peeking brown that shied away. The scent of butter – and maybe happiness - suffocated the air with the salty brush and all too obvious smell of popcorn, and this itself owned and shared the epitome of purity. Of children and innocence and carefree days of something much too long ago. A hesitant hand reached to the bag and poked the first kernel of popcorn. The rubbery touch, the motion of a hidden softness beneath a somewhat sturdier exterior… I rubbed the surface, fingered the morsel, attempted a delicate extraction for taste but ended up with a handful for greed. Almost immediately, it found its way into my mouth. A single crunch and they broke, crumpling into submission and letting go of their taste. The butter swirled with salt and saliva, the memories offered a bittersweet illusion. A single unpopped kernel added to the laughably clichéd notion of releasing inhibitions.
         The kernel was me, I thought half morosely. Lacking in taste and failing to bloom, just a lone and hostile shell that never could quite make that POP. And with that thought, I scowled at nothing and swallowed my own reflection.