The Credit Must Go To Malba (For All The Great Toast She's Made Over The Years)

In a darkest corner of the cupboard you sit and wait... knowing your day will come. You've become bitter (almost particle board-like) as you've paled in the pitch black of the shadows. The box of salt blocks any light from entering your world of remorse-turned-burning-hatred for the day.

You know there will be a moment. A sweet moment of vengeance as you will choke any reasonable texture and taste from the buds of your next victim who presumes that you will always be there for their amusement. You've heard the whispers from the spice rack, muffled though they were. Time waits for no bread, except for you in hardening your heart to the consistency of rock.

There are rumours sifting among the neighbours. The freezer hasn't seen a loaf of bread for some time. The honey has gone hard in its container. The peanut butter has put on a brave face, but even you can see with your faded vision that there is plenty of peanut oil dripping from his oily forehead.

It is during these moments of waiting that you think to yourself, "Satisfaction will be a tough morsel to swallow for my neglecting friend." Piecing the puzzle together was only half of the fun as you purposefully lengthened a crack in your face. "Needy people are so fun to disappoint," you think as you dwell on the possibilities for this epic struggle that is now inevitable to all but the baking goods section of the cupboard. They always did live in a fantasy made of icing sugar and syrup.

Then the door opens...

The things you thought. The hatred. The hurt. The misery. It all loves company, as you float over the quiet of the neighborhood to the burning light. Then you break down as you think of your blessed mother. What was the purpose of your existence if it wasn't for THIS moment?

She nurtured you... showing in her efforts the meaning of scientific method in parenting. Her secret recipe was the key to your long life. It hasn't been fulfilling, but most lives rarely are.

A vision comes to you and time stands still. "Hello son. Do you not remember me? In the recesses of your mind you surely must remember the warm evenings of laughter we enjoyed together. I want you to know that I have always loved you. Even after you were taken away from me, I still clung to the thought of this moment being the fruition of your destiny. Fair thee well. Now do your best and choke the living daylights out of this fool."