The Glass Breakfast

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The Glass Breakfast

Postby Mindtraveller » Wed Jun 07, 2006 2:23 pm

The following is a vignette inspired by one of the song titles of Bill Nelson, posted by Anthony Ravenscroft in a different thread.

The Glass Breakfast

When Timmy came down the stairs, mom and dad were already seated at the kitchen table, munching away on their breakfast, each hidden behind their favorite sections of the morning paper. The morning sun shone through the half-open windows and the smell of floor polish and syrup found its way into Timmy's nostrils. The table was set with pancakes, plates of toast, bacon and sausage and egg rolls. A pitcher of orange juice stood next to a pot of newly brewed coffee. Everything smelled of June, down to the scent of cut grass making its way through the windows, hovering above the table.

"Morning, Timmy. Slept well?"

"Yeah, mom, terrific."

"What're you up to today? Going over to Jerry's?"

"Nah, dunno, maybe later we'll go down to ..."

He didn't finish the sentence. As he was talking, mom had folded the paper over, revealing her face. Or what used to be her face. What once was there had now fled, taking all her facial features with it. In its place, a crater. Messy, glittering, maroon. Exposed tendons, cartilage, muscle. What might once have been lips moved, spoke, continued speaking.

"You hungry, Timmy? There's plenty of food for you."

And then dad folded his paper down too, smiled at him, sporting a perfectly normal face, clean crew-cut, straight white teeth.

"Don't be alarmed, son. It's just ... well ... you know. Your mom always makes the coffee so damn hot! It's all you can do not to burn your tongue everytime."

Timmy stood, as it was all he could.

"Hey now, don't give me that look", dad said. "Somebody had to teach her a lesson." He reached over the table, took an apple from a bowl.

"Here ya go, sport."

He smiled and threw the apple at Timmy. It went sailing through the air. Reflexively, Timmy lunged forward, catching the apple with one hand. Pure reflex also made him lift it to his lips to take a bite. As he did so, he realized it was made of glass. Smokily red glass, with something moving inside, scuttling about, scraping the insides. He couldn't make out what it was, and, revolted, he dropped the apple.

It took forever to reach the ground.
If you could be me, who would you be?

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