By Julie Lees
Snowy dust is all that remains of their ears, dragged and pummelled against stone. Broken carcasses lie, discarded—the forgotten promise of a new life. A mother’s nourishment purified and beaten into a different form slams down, dissipating the dust. Thousands of newcomers pour in, their quintessential sweetness evident, despite being separated from their natural source. Together they join forces, aware of a collective strength. The heat intensifies. A cooling consolidation renders them impervious—the core oozing bloodied syrup.
“Hmm! Victoria sponge, my favourite.”
The baker slaps her husband’s wrist, and he retrieves his impetuous hand. “Wait! It isn’t teatime, yet.”
Great, it seems like I can’t eat anything without a nice side of guilt. Excellent word choice!
Thank you for your encouraging words and for taking the time to comment.
You held me spellbound to the very end, great job.
Thank you! Glad you enjoyed my piece.
I had a notion that I was reading another “war story” until I came to the end. Nice twist you gave the story. Really liked it.
You got it! Glad you liked it. Thank you for commenting.
I USED to love Victoria sponge, Julie… An enigmatic piece.
Me too. Thanks for the feedback.