Cake

By Patrick Dunne, TIWP Student

I turn the rusting knob to the left. opening the gate to a new world. Dust rests on countertops and lightbulbs ring. I almost gag at the sight of the kitchen. Cold pizza, bread crumbs, and crackers, all things that should be thrown away, but aren’t. Why did I come? Why am I still here?

I am greeted by footsteps growing closer. The closer they come. the more the wood whines under the pressure. A boy stands still, staring right at me. He holds out a plate with words written on it in ketchup. They are messy, but I can see that the bunch of jumbled letters spell “try.”

Under the ketchup lies a birthday cake. A fork is there as well, staying as still as the boy. I grab it and dig into the cake with it. The cake crumbles. It falls apart and is a pile of crumbs.

The boy stands there staring at me. How long was he going to stare? I noticed he was holding a toy car. The car is not in his little fingers anymore. He whines like the rotting wood beneath. Why did he give me a bad cake when he could have given me a good cake. He stands there and cries, not even worrying about the bad meal he gave me. At least he isn’t standing any longer.

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