Forty One

Day Forty One:  ONE

If it were anything out of the ordinary no one mentioned it, not even a sound but the bubbling on the stove could be heard about the wind outside.  A clock ticked in a far off room, but other than that nothing.  Nothing significant except that there was a large cereal box opened on the counter, two flecks of the grainy, sugary stuff beside the box, and spoons.  There were spoons all over the counter, surrounding the box, and no hands to hold anything of the like.  The spoons, sitting quietly amongst the other kitchenware, did not know why they were there either.  It was something of a peculiar case of losing, finding piles of spoons with no users, no purpose, other than just to be.  Would it be insane to suggest that the holders of the spoons were lost too?  Lost in the use of spoons?  A cupboard, sitting under the counter sneezed. 

The spoons froze.

Another sneeze, and a sharp inhale of breath, and a small hand creaked around the door of the cupboard, prpping it open.  Two feet fell on the floor, and out came another spoon.  A little girl’s eyes peaked from around the door and eyed the counter above.  Holding a spoon in her teeth she smirked quietly, as if trying not to wake something.  If she moved just once more she would for sure disrupt all solidity in this kitchen at this moment.  Stopping, her too-little teeth slipped, and the spoon clattered to the floor.  The spoons were silent no more.

This month has turned into me trying to get writing prompts out.  If you want to follow along today was think of a situation you were once in in your grandmother (or equivelant’s) kitchen and hyperbolize it.  Go on now, do this with me this week.  Go on.

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