The memory of that taste was the only happy thing he had left.
The tang, the mellow creaminess.
He remembered his mother standing at the makeshift worktop in their sparse kitchenette; he remembered the cracked, red fingers of her gentle hands unwrapping the wax paper as though she were opening a parcel of the finest cuisine, rather than the last, hard lump of cheese they had been able to afford; he remembered her measuring out the perfect dollop of mustard with a bent teaspoon – enough to give his young palette a kick but not so much that the subtle aroma of the cheese was lost. Some days, it was the only thing they had to eat. It was always enough, though. Her love made it enough.
He yearned for the comfort of that time now. So when they asked him what he wanted for his last meal, he didn’t even have to think. He knew he wanted to spend his last night on earth transported back to those moments: to that time when so little meant so much, when all their nothing was enough.
He delivered that first bite to his lips with all the reverence of a man laying the measure of his life before God.
The memory flooded in, strong and swift and sure…but it was not his memory.
“You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable,” she pleaded. “Something beautiful and full of monsters.”
Strange The Dreamer by Laini Taylor
Inspired by Erin Morgenstern’s Flax-Golden Tales, I have decided to embark on my own creative writing blog series, “Wild & Improbable Tales”, as a way to write more freely and more frequently. At least once a week, I will choose a card at random from The School Of Life‘s ‘Small Pleasures’ box and use the image and/or writing on the back to inspire a short piece of creative writing. I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.