Of the original twelve, only four were left — Peter, Andrew, James, and John.
The first eight left in the usual ways: scrambles, fry-ups, omelettes. The ordinary work of breakfast.
But now one of the remaining four would be called to sacred duty. Chocolate chip cookies.
The Hand hovered, then chose John.
“Why did that joker get picked?” whined James.
“Look at him rolling around the counter like…” Andrew began, but Peter interrupted, “No John, don’t do it! It’s just a story! There aren’t any
king’s men –“
A messy SPLAT came next, then the clicking of the dog’s nails on the tile, loud slurping, and (cover the children’s ears) crunching.
John, always the one to think he understood the assignment when placed on a high, flat, horizontal surface, was gone.
Peter, Andrew, and James looked at each other. Who would be chosen next?
Sounds of measuring and mixing were heard. Apparently The Hand was not going to risk putting another of them on the counter. It was good to go straight from carton to bowl, though. Less time to get the jitters and have second thoughts. One sharp jolt, then the swan dive into the pool of creamed butter and sugar.
The Hand hovered over the remaining three.
— — — — —
“These cookies are really good! Better than usual. Did you do anything different this time?” The Man asked.
“Nope. Not a thing. I think it was the egg. It seemed extraordinary in a way I can’t really explain,” The Hand answered.
A(nother) Year of Reading 