Let them Eat Cake!
A wonderful lady made us all a cake for Christmas. Now, cake in our house is rare but once we opened the lid, we realized that we had seen cake before and that is was good to eat, we all had a small slice. But then I woke up in the night and started thinking about cake and how lonely it must be in the kitchen by itself with only odd assorted cookies and remnants of pies for company and I began to feel bad for the cake. Then I thought of all the people who didn't have cake and I felt bad for for those poor people too.
The obligation of duty overwhelmed me and so I just had to do it. Eat Cake!
By this time, the cake itself began crying so sadly and sweetly,
"I'm here! It's dark in the kitchen and I am all alone except for these odd assorted cookies and remnants of pies! I am cake, HEAR ME! Come and eat me! You must!"
While the family slept, I crept into the kitchen and I ate cake.
Later on after the alarm sounded and while under the clever guise of making breakfast, I ate cake.
The morning progressed and while I was answering e-mails, and catching up on the news, I heard it. It was a voice, faint at first but quickly increasing in volume.
This startled me. It was m Kerig coffee maker!
"Morning Blend! I have Morning Blend! Morning Blend .goes great with cake...great with cake!"
Amazing, the cake had somehow compromised my coffee maker!
I managed to ignore the annoying sing-song for a while, but I am only human.
The cake started again too. This time, appealing now to my literary nature.
"Let them eat cake!"
"Yes." I thought.
Someone famous said this once or maybe I had read it on a place mat at a coffee house.
Who is "them" anyway? I Reasoned. And why should they eat the cake?
I decided right then and there that I wouldn't let a silly pronoun keep me from what was rightfully mine. It was a gift cake after all. So quick as a wink, I changed "them" to "her" .
And She, Her and I ate cake.
The afternoon sun beamed brightly in through the curtains in my kitchen. I sighed a guilty contented sigh. The danger is over and past. The cake is quiet now. It has gone to the place where all good cakes go. The coffee maker is silent too since it is mostly a morning voice.
But in spite of myself, I listened. The more I try not to, the more I listened.
Then, very faintly, I heard something?
I opened the fridge-no, nothing there. Well, just a few crispy scoldings from some salad makings but vegetables are not very persuasive and easily dismissed.
I poured a diet soda over ice and retreated to the front porch to count passing traffic.
"Thirty-five."
I said aloud as a red Ford Pinto with broken left tail light rambles past. The postman stoped and delivered some assorted bills and grocery ads directly into my hands. I smiled and bundled the lot to look over inside.
But when I put my hand on the door knob the door was stuck. I pulled harder and it suddenly exploded with a swarm of voices screaming like a thousand buzzing banshees.
"Help us! Save us! We are afraid of this dark place!"
HARK!
The heroine in me rises.
FLASH! HEADLINE!
-TEN BANANA MOON PIES TRAPPED -
"Save us!" Ten individually wrapped voices scream again.
C Copyright by D.J. L December 27, 2013
