By Elana Shira Segal
The old man places his knife across his plate. His tremulous, wrinkled hand works to fork a small morsel of roast chicken. The piece is perched precariously across the tines, shuddering with the constant motion of his hand. He moves the fork with precision and focus. It travels indirectly through the air toward his mouth like an object suspended in zero gravity. The journey is long, and the fork veers off course. The chicken teeters. The man opens his mouth preparing for its arrival. His lips are cracked on the outside, pink and wet on the inside. A row of bottom teeth, stained brown, stands in a crooked line. They are soldiers, worn out from a long bottle. At last, they welcome the fork that finally ends its journey. The man’s chewing is slow, and laborious. A small, choking cough emerges from his throat. He fumbles for the napkin in his lap, the white cloth flapping like a flag of surrender. He rubs the soft, white, linen across his lips, removing the sticky wetness that has accumulated from his bite. His hoary, grey eyes scan the table for his glass of water. He must take care to choose the right glass, the one that belongs to him. He spots it, and the crinkled muscles next to his eyes relax and smooth out. The sides of his mouth turn upward, and he gently reaches across to retrieve his glass. The water sloshes to and fro until the rim is steadied on his lower lip. He sips, a long, quenching sip and carefully returns the glass to the table. Like a wilted flower he has been revived. He closes his eyes and rests before he’s ready to take his next bite.
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Elana Shira Segal is a writer and therapist living in Toronto, Canada. Her debut novel, Even the Darkness has Stars, will be released in the fall of 2026 with Evernight Teen. Her short fiction and creative non-fiction has been published in various journals. You can read more of her work at elanashirasegal.com.