Cake Mix and Pasta

Rishon

There I was, watching Doctor Who, all cuddled up with the remote in my hand, when...."AHH!!" This sudden shiver runs down my spine. My hands fell week at my side, dropping the remote onto the marble floor, watching it shatter into a million little pieces.

Zeera runs out in her bathrobe, her hair full of shampoo yelling, "What the hell was that?!?!"

Then my dad runs out of the kitchen, in an apron, holding a bowl of cake mix in his hand, "What’s all the ruckus about?!" He looks at Zeera to me, to the broken remote. "What happened to the remote?!" Putting the cake mix on the nearby desk, he tentatively walks up to the remote, and starts picking up the tiny pieces. "Oh, my poor baby." Yes, he was talking to a remote control. Let me explain. My father worshipped the Television. It was his reason for living. It his sun rise and sun set, and thus the remote is as good as a lover to him.

Just like that, I waved my hand over the pieces, willing them to re-assemble. My dad stared at it awe struck for a few seconds. I heard him gulp. He looked at me with his fake smile, "Um....oh ya." He gave a little fake laugh, "You can still do that?" My fists tightened.

"Yes." I felt Zeera's soapy hand on my shoulder. "We both can." She was looking at him dead in the eyes. "You're tomato pasta will begin burning if you don't lower the stove's temperature....You've put too much milk in there, by the way." She continued to look at him, his face now bemused. "I can smell really well, remember? I can also hear the sound of the water fast evaporating from the pasta."

"Of course!" My dad tried to keep his cheery disposition. I hated that fake smile. "Well, I best get back to the stove now, shouldn't I? And you young lady, should get back in that shower." He turned and walked into the kitchen, carrying his cake mix with him.

"What was that?" Zeera asked after he left.

"What was what?"

"That feeling, that creepy 'something is wrong' feeling"

"That....I don't know." We stared at each other for some time, till a small lop of the foamy shampoo fell on my face. That broke the tension! Laughing her guts off, she ran back upstairs, as I reached for a towel. But.....I still couldn't stop thinking about it, and I know Zeera couldn't either. Something was very wrong. For some reason, I wanted to call that gothic girl, Lacey....I just did.

 

The End

92 comments about this exercise Feed