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Black Forest Cake, Anyone?

Story ID:2369
Written by:Michael Timothy Smith (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:Fiction
Location:Fort Lee New Jersey USA
Year:2007
Person:Elizabeth
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OurEcho Preface This post deals with a mature theme or contains explicit language. While the post is not extremely violent or pornographic, it does contain language or explore a subject matter that may offend some readers. If you do not wish to view posts that deal with mature themes, please exit this post.
Mature conetent!!!

Every three months I enter in a contest
called, "The 24-Hour SHort Story Contest."

You're used to reading my inspirational
stories. Now I bring you something different.
This contest allows me to step out of my
box.

I was given the following topic and word count.
Below that is what I wrote

Mike
TODAY'S TOPIC!

It always happened when the room was too quiet.
Random phrases were once again racing in and out
of her mind. Black forest, red velvet, white
wine, blue cheese, hash browns... Her hands
tightened into fists and she furiously shook her
head, trying to dispel the obsessive thoughts
that assailed her daily.

She wiped her hands across her apron as she
turned to the pot that was now boiling over. When
she was putting the hot pan in the sink, she
noticed a movement in the reflection of the
window. She turned quickly, but her guests were
still sitting motionless, right where she'd left
them...

~~~~~

WORD COUNT Stories for today's topic must not
exceed 1200 words. (Your story's title is *not*
included in the word count. We used MSWord's word
count function to determine the final word count
in submission.)

*Very Important* Type "24 Hour Contest" in the
subject line of your email entry! This will
enable us to pull any wayward entries out of our
sp*m filter.

Black Forest Cake, Anyone?


Elizabeth sat at the desk in her room. A coloring book lay open in front of her.
The picture of a horse standing under a tree was half finished. Angry voices filtered
through the heating vent.
“What do you do all day?” her father screamed at her mother. “This place is a
mess.”
“John, I had to go shopping.” she replied.
“Shopping? That’s bull! You sat on your fat ass and watched those stupid daytime
soaps, didn’t you? You wasted your time doing nothing all day. I should slap the shit out
of you.”
Elizabeth curled up with the dolls on her bed. She looked at her one-eyed
Raggedy-Anne. “Why does he have to fight with Mommy all the time?” Raggedy-Anne’s
one eye stared blankly back at her. “Make them stop! Please make them stop!” she
pleaded.
The voices grew louder. Her mother stomped down the hall, passed Elizabeth’s
room, and fled to the master suite. “Leave me alone!” she screamed and slammed the
door hard enough for the pictures on Elizabeth’s wall to rattle.
Elizabeth cried. Tears streamed down her face. Raggedly-Anne stared vacantly at
her. Elizabeth heard her father stomp by. “Don’t you dare walk away from me” He banged on the door to the master suite. “Open up!”
“Go away!” came her mother’s muffled reply.
“Open this damn door ,or I’ll kick it off it’s damn hinges.”
“I’m not opening anything until you calm down.”
“God damn it! I said open this door!”
Elizabeth buried her head under her pillow, but the sounds of her father kicking at
the door could still be heard. She grabbed Raggedy-Anne, “I wish it would just stop.”
The door gave way to the force of his kick. Wood splintered. The door flew open.
The doorknob punched a hole in the opposite wall. Her mother screamed.
“Please stop!” Elizabeth clutched her doll.
“Now I’m going to teach you a lesson - if it’s even possible to teach someone as
dumb as you anything!” her father yelled. “Lock me out – I don’t think so!”
Elizabeth put her hands over her ears, but the sound of something heavy falling
to the floor filtered through anyway. She heard her mother scream and then silence.
Elizabeth grew curious. “Did they stop fighting, Anne?” she asked her doll. She walked
to her door with her right thumb in her mouth. Anne dangled from her left hand. The
tears on Elizabeth’s cheeks reflected the light from the hall. Elizabeth peeked toward her
parent’s room. The door, damaged by his kicks, hung from one hinge
She heard her mother, “John?” There was a pause. “John, are you OK?”
Elizabeth crept closer. Her mother knelt over her daddy. “John? John, get up!
Are you OK? I’m sorry I locked you out. Please forgive me! John, just get up! John…”
Elizabeth watched them carry her daddy down the hall. A man walked by. He had
one hand on her mother’s shoulder and held her hands with the other. “Mrs. Jacobs, I’m
sorry. We did everything we could. We think your husband may have had an aneurysm.
Did he complain of headaches?”
“No.” her mother sobbed and allowed the man to comfort her.
“We’ll know more after we do an autopsy.” he said.
Their life changed. Without her father’s income, they were forced to move into a
smaller house. Elizabeth spent more-and-more time alone or with sitters, as her mother
worked odd jobs to support them. During the day, her mother cleaned houses. Several
nights a week and on weekends, she worked for a caterer. She did well and was requested
to work more often, allowing her to quit her cleaning jobs.
She started her own catering business. Her careful attention to details earned her
respect in the industry. She received contracts to cater weddings, anniversaries, and
political functions. Her business grew. She hired help, but insisted on baking her own
cakes. She was the master cake maker.
Her mom’s busy schedule prevented her from giving her daughter attention.
Elizabeth was neglected. When her mom was home, she was tired and moody. She
expected her young daughter to live up to the standards her clients expected of her. To
avoid spankings, Elizabeth stayed away from her.
Elizabeth withdrew into her fantasy world. Her dolls were her only friends. In her
room, they sat around a pretend dining table or on blankets on the floor. She placed
plastic dishes in front of them and pretended to be just like her mom.
**************************
The Black Forest cake sat on the kitchen counter. The freshly-spread, dark icing
glistened in the sunlight streaming in the window. Elizabeth’s mom, who never allowed
her to eat cake, was in the shower preparing for a catering job at their church hall.
Elizabeth listened. She heard the water running. She took her finger and dipped it
into the icing, careful to stay close to the bottom of the cake, where her mother wouldn’t
notice. The sugary taste was intoxicating.
The water stopped. Elizabeth rushed to her room to play with her dolls. The door
to her room burst open. Her mother glared. “You touched the cake, didn’t you!”
“No, Mom.” Elizabeth lied weakly. She clutched Anne. “Honest, mom, I didn’t
touch it.”
“Come with me young lady!” She grabbed Elizabeth by the ear, dragged her to
the bathroom, and lifted her to the mirror. “So you didn’t touch my cake? Look! Look in the mirror!”
Elizabeth looked. Dark stains of icing circled her lips.
Her mother’s voice turned cold and unnaturally calm. “You lied to me.”
Elizabeth shook her head, “No.”
“I think you did. Do you know what the punishment is for little girls who lie and
touch their mother’s cake?”
“No.”
Elizabeth’s mom dragged her back to her room. She pulled up Elizabeth’s little
red skirt and spanked. Her anger got control of her. Elizabeth screamed. Her bottom
turned red.
Her anger abated, her mother tossed Elizabeth to the bed and slammed the door
on her way out. “You ever touch my cakes again, you’ll get worse!” She screamed.
Elizabeth clutched Raggedy-Anne and sobbed against her tattered dress.
**************************
It always happened when the room was too quiet. Random phrases were once
again racing in and out of her mind. Black forest, red velvet, white wine, blue cheese,
hash browns – the words of her mother preparing for another function. Her hands
tightened into fists and she furiously shook her head, trying to dispel the obsessive voice
of her mother that assailed her daily.
Elizabeth wiped her hands across her apron and noticed a movement in the
reflection of the window. She turned quickly, but her guests sat motionless, right where
she'd left them. “Black forest cake, anyone?” she asked.
Raggedy-Anne slumped in her high chair. Bolinda, a Cabbage-Patch doll, leaned
over her plate. Ruffles, a stuffed doggie, sat with his paws on the table, his pink tongue
dangled loosely from the side of his mouth.
Raggedy-Anne’s eye, now alive, followed Elizabeth as she served her guests.
Upstairs, Elizabeth’s mom lay on the floor of the master suite. Dried blood
formed a streak from her mouth and down one cheek. Blood pooled in both ears and one
eye bulged grotesquely from its socket.
Raggedy-Anne’s normally straight lips turned upward in an evil grin. Her one
eye glowed an eerie red. No one would hurt Elizabeth again.

Michael T. Smith