(no subject)
There are familiar smells coming from the kitchen, this evening.
Rae had spent almost the entire day outside, lying in the sun. Doing nothing but concentrating on soaking in as much light as possible, the sunlight whose warm almost-palpable weight on her shoulders and arms, the back of her neck, the back of her legs, was like the presence of a friend.
She knew she couldn't stay in the bar long. Mustn't stay long, for the longer she stayed, the harder it was for her to finally leave. So she was baking. There were too many people she wished to see once more before she left - gift baskets of their favorites of Sunshine's baking would have to serve as a goodbye.
On the table in the middle of the kitchen she's using is a crowd of half-finished gift baskets lined with sunflower-dotted blue tissue-paper and labeled with names: Thirteen, Ben, Ned, Axel, Teja, Demeter, Urquhart, Mia, Bobby, and a number of others.
They're good eaters, all of them, in their own ways. She'll miss them. She'll miss the looks on their faces at the first bite.
She'll miss being alive.
No, no you won't, whispers an insidious thought in her head as she bakes. There won't even be a 'you' to miss being a 'you.'
Rae had spent almost the entire day outside, lying in the sun. Doing nothing but concentrating on soaking in as much light as possible, the sunlight whose warm almost-palpable weight on her shoulders and arms, the back of her neck, the back of her legs, was like the presence of a friend.
She knew she couldn't stay in the bar long. Mustn't stay long, for the longer she stayed, the harder it was for her to finally leave. So she was baking. There were too many people she wished to see once more before she left - gift baskets of their favorites of Sunshine's baking would have to serve as a goodbye.
On the table in the middle of the kitchen she's using is a crowd of half-finished gift baskets lined with sunflower-dotted blue tissue-paper and labeled with names: Thirteen, Ben, Ned, Axel, Teja, Demeter, Urquhart, Mia, Bobby, and a number of others.
They're good eaters, all of them, in their own ways. She'll miss them. She'll miss the looks on their faces at the first bite.
She'll miss being alive.
No, no you won't, whispers an insidious thought in her head as she bakes. There won't even be a 'you' to miss being a 'you.'