A Cupcake’s Not the Same as a Cake

The giant roars in anger. He picks up the empty cake stand and throws it high in the air. On its return, it misses my baby niece by mere inches. My sister cries out in anguish. I know how she feels, but for another reason. I spent hours baking those cupcakes. It took the giant about three seconds to demolish them.

‘What is it with you people and cupcakes,’ the giant rages. ‘They barely fill the hole in my molar. Bake real cakes next time. Give me something to chew on.’

The giant stomps off, ranting on about proper cakes.

***

Because today is Halloween, I decided against something spooky. I wrote this a while ago for Flash Frenzy, but I gave it a new title – it’s from Mae Martin’s Birthday Song.

The Spud Situation

They’re not just spuds, (c) M&S 

‘Love, you’ve outdone yourself. Perfect roasted spuds, these.’

Kerry raises the corners of her mouth to smile, but she fears it might look like a grimace. If she’s learnt one lesson today, it’s that she’ll never make roast potatoes again when entertaining Mike’s colleagues. She rubs the plaster on the thumb she nearly chopped off before she burnt the first batch.

‘I agree,’ says Miranda, the boss’s wife. ‘Those aren’t just roast potatoes.’

Kerry freezes. Miranda can’t know she rushed to M&S to fix the spud situation?

‘Those are divine roast potatoes. You’ll have to give me the recipe.’

Just for Halloween, Right?

‘Let’s have a look then, cupcake.’

As her manager, should Terry be flirting with her? Sheena frowns at herself in what Terry calls the uniform. More like a slutty costume. Well, it is Halloween.

‘Don’t it fit? I’ve a good eye for size, usually. I’ll get a smaller one.’

Smaller? She doesn’t dare move for fear of exposing her backside, the skirt’s that short.

‘Will the cost… I mean, uniform change after Halloween?’

Something a bit less revealing for Christmas, maybe.

‘Change? Course not. Only in summer, we don’t want you lot getting heatstroke.’

Great. She won’t last the day.

Dressed to Kill

Janey sticks her head out to check for the prevalent conditions. She can’t afford to be caught in the wrong outfit. It’s getting harder by the day to predict which group she might encounter. Nights getting longer doesn’t help – blasted autumn equinox. The other day, she found herself out until sunset without adequate protection; it nearly cost her dearly.

The fog doesn’t help, either. Muffles sounds of shuffling feet. On the other hand, it’ll mask her scent.

In the end, Janey goes for full armour and weaponry. Will slow her down, but no matter what’s about today, she’ll kill it.

***

Samantha’s invited me to join her cliché challenge. Dressed to kill jumped at me, but I may use one or two other clichés on the list.

Go on, have a look at those clichés  and join in!

Into Ribbons

image from Pixabay 

She woke up wishing the day over. The early morning sunshine lit up the red gown like a warning beacon and oh, how she wanted to heed it. She brushed her fingertips over the shimmering fabric. Beautiful frock, but bright coral red didn’t suit her.

Colour didn’t suit her. She wanted to wear a simple black number, but Mother wouldn’t have it.

‘You will be presented to society in a style that befits your father’s status.’

She lived her life trapped in a Jane Austen novel and she wanted out. Words wouldn’t sway Mother. Cutting the dress into ribbons might.

***

That’s an excellent photo prompt for FFfAW this week – I’m looking forward to reading the stories it sparks.

Feeding Time

I watched the vulture looking at me hungrily as I lay on the ground bleeding and injured.

(c) Barbara W. Beacham

‘Help me.’

Why did I keep trying? I’d shouted myself hoarse hours ago; I knew nobody would save me. I’d been warned. I didn’t believe the tales. The zoo animals I remembered from before the collapse had taken over the park and NW1? Pu-lease.

But I’d seen proof that animals were much better at adapting to circumstances humans found challenging. If I made it back – unlikely, given the state of my leg wound – I’d report the beast that had attacked me must have been a cross between wolf and labrador.

No, chances were I’d make this bird a handsome dinner.

***

It’s Monday, it’s Finish the Story time. Join in, it’s fun!

If you’re a regular reader, this might remind you of The Zoologist’s Favourite Tiger. Same world, a bit later, I reckon. I love this idea but I’ll have to forget about this world. It’s only six days until NaNoWriMo and I’ve Scarlett to rewrite, so I cannot run with any plot bunnies this year…

Raise your hand if you’re nanoing – I think I’ve lost count.

All Selling

eBay is such a pain.

She dislikes the hassle. How does one take a decent picture? Hers are either too dark or overexposed. She lives in terror of getting postage wrong. And once those bloodsuckers take their fees, the money isn’t that great, either.

Well, it is some money. On a good week, it takes the shop from Sainsbury’s Basics to Taste the Difference. When she finds treasures on the charity shop run, she’ll buy them and live on cheap toast and butter for a week until the item sells.

eBay is a pain. But it’s better than the alternatives.

Famous Last Words

‘Civil servants is what we are, not soldiers.’

Behind him, a synchronised shake of heads. Tone of his voice screams drill sergeant, though. His minions lining up behind him like birds on a wire, in their identical suits and crew cuts – let’s just say I know a liar when I see one.

‘So, whadda ya wan’?’

A question to make him tell more porkies. We all know what it is they’re coming for, we’ve all heard the rumours.

‘Open your door.’

No way, I’m gonna keep the semi-automatic hidden till the last sec. I’m gonna stand up for my rights.

Tim Loves Halloween

Tim loves Halloween. Not only does he guide minimum one tour per night, which means lots of money. His pulling success rate goes through the roof, too. On a misty night like tonight, he won’t go home alone.

Tim hates going home alone. None of the girls who drink spiced cider on his tab and listen to his stories he can’t tell in front of family audiences ever return for another tour.

It’s not the spirits wandering the killing fields in search of their souls that scare him. But spooky season is over soon and he fears the lonely nights.

***

Thank you, Megan, for the prompts spooky, souls and spirits this week.

Edgers

(c) 2015, Sonya

I hear them before I see them. Loud and scary, out of necessity. Now, they’re Edgers, they have to be rough around the edges. Tough life, theirs – not one I’d want. I like the cushy comforts and the safety of the Inlands; we’d have neither if it wasn’t for them, keeping the enemy out.

SoI feel bad about not wanting Edgers in my eatery. But they’ve terrible table manners. A big bunch of them will drive potential patrons away. They like to fight among themselves, and they’re not afraid of throwing cutlery.

I prefer to admire their roughness from afar.