The smell is completely intoxicating.

I can't help myself. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can feel the smell travel to my lungs, my stomach and into every cell of my body. A peaceful wave spreads over me. I feel chills and goosebumps all over.

"What will you have ma'am?"

Instantly I open my eyes and shake my head indicating nothing. For a minute, my friends look at me like I have gone insane.

"Remember I don't eat out."

That satisfies them. We take a seat at the nearest empty table and they continue their conversation. I return to my thoughts.

Why? Why had I come? It was for the company not the food. Never the food. I knew we would end up here. I shouldn't have come. This place is a nightmare. My own personal hell.

The smells come back again. It's strawberries on ice. The little girl at the next table licks what looks like Vanilla Strawberry Blizzard. The chocolate rivulets flow off the cone and she licks her fingers.

I am disgusted. I close my eyes and vigorously rub my left hand. It's OK. It is not on your fingers. I try to breath normally but her brother is slurping away at his milkshake. It is not helping.

I hear the food steps coming towards me. I give a slight shiver and open my eyes again.

It is glorious yet nauseating. The French Fries shine like sunshine after a storm. The Spicy Double Cheese Chicken Burger calls my name. It's saying 'Eat me. I was made for you'. I look away.

The other end of the table is no better. The Crunchy Onion Halos innocently look at me. The Quesadillas ooze cheese and golden corn. I can feel my stomach going to give a loud growl. Before it can I pull out my water bottle and take as many gigantic gulps as I can. I rub my stomach with my right hand to calm the hunger.

"What do you eat?" someone asks.

"Oh! What ever I cook myself. So I know exactly what I am eating." No one is listening they are chomping away. I look away scratching my arm.

Oh no. why am I itching? Is it red? I sneak a look. It is not, yet. Am I having a reaction? No, No. I didn't eat anything. I am imagining it. May be I touched something. No I didn't. I was careful. Still I quietly remove an antiseptic wipe and rub it carefully. I take a deep breath and avoid my own thoughts. Huge red hives. Projectile Vomiting. Intestine twisting into hundreds of knots. Rushing to the emergency room. Needles. Drips.

I hear the screeching of chairs. They are done. I gingerly and as fast as I can get up. I look at the exit which invites me with open arms.

Out and way from the sights and smells of hell. I take deep breaths of freedom until my next meal.

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A/n:

Image : Cloudy with a chance of Meatballs 2

Phobia : Cibophobia or Sitophobia

Word count : 499 excl. A/n