Grandpa Todd's Secret Recipe
Grandpa Todd's Secret Recipe
Sitting down at her kitchen table she looked over to the window sill. The window sill that was still glittering in the evening sunset, letting the rays pour over the few pictures that she still had up in frames. She pulled a cigarette up to her lips and brought it to life, curling her slender fingers around the crisp metal of the Zippo. The Alsatian by her feet whimpered, he hated the smell of smoke. Always made him sneeze if she was too close to him. She exhaled the smoke away, grimacing as the stale air filled her lungs and stung her throat. Damn packet cigarettes. Her eyes wandered back to the window sill, her gaze clinging to the silhouetted figures in the photographs as the setting sun blurred them from her vision even more. She could just about make out her own stout frame against a taller, much thinner one. Him. Her lips began to coil into a cheap, distasteful smile and allowed the thick smoke to slither around her. Taking a final breath of tar she stubbed the butt into the jade ashtray that she had once taken so much pride in. She would clean it out each evening, finding excitement in extinguishing the first cigarette of the day in a clean, shining resting place. Now you would find it laying carelessly to the edge of the table, threatening to spill over and wash her away in a sea of nicotine. Dragging her weary bones over to the sink, she picked up the photo frame, studying it with sheer malevolence burning through her retinas. She pulled open the casing, letting it fall gently back onto the side as she clasped the photo in her desperate hands. The Zippo throbbed in her palm, letting her know that it was still there, comforting her. It could solve the final problems that she once had been all too willing to let consume her life. The Zippo clicked open, sending up a parade of flames as it licked at the corner of the photograph. She let it burn. She let it burn away the memories, or rather, the left over evidence of the memories. Her hand released the picture as she watched it float down gracefully, finally coming to a rest on the cold tin of the sink. She watched as the image of her own face slowly began to smolder away, releasing her from her old self. She suddenly felt surge of energy race through her veins. And that was just from remembering.
His eyes widened as the door swung open, revealing her to him. Her dense red hair, curled naturally around her soft oval face, her pale skin complimenting such vivid blue eyes. He remembered how easy it was to fall in love with her. He remembered how easy it was to fall out of love with her. She would lash out at the smallest things, throw chairs through windows and smash the chinaware when in a flurry. He enjoyed it so much; pushing her to the point of self-destruction. His being with her was practically a death wish. His cold eyes met her warm smile as he invited her inside his home; perhaps she had come to say sorry? He watched as her once gentle hands violently fingered the woodwork of his stately Victorian house, he cringed as she ran a palm over the large protruding dent she had made upon her leaving day. She is not well. She is sick in the head. Before he could question her being there his head came into contact with a heavy stone tile, whose sole purpose was to be laid on the kitchen floor.
She should go back. Clean up a bit, you know? No one likes a messy house, especially at this hour. Stubbing out her second cigarette she shot up from the aging wooden chair, running a rough hand through her un-brushed hair, unsure of what to do. He was still in there. God knows if he was still breathing. With any luck his breath would have ceased when his skull collapsed under her fingertips. The Alsatian brushed against her thigh, it was dinner time and he could smell it. She threw on her over-sized coat and grabbed the singular key hanging from the rack next to the front door, the frost biting at her exposed skin as she crept through the door of her secluded cabin. Upon popping open the boot a scent caught her nose, the scent of relief. It took everything she had in her to drag his body from the car to the front door, she allowed the lid of the trunk to slam itself shut as she heaved dead weight into her living room. She watched him slump against the tattered green sofa as she kicked the door shut behind her. The cheap smile returning to uncover her near perfect teeth. The Alsatian ran to her, wagging his tail in excitement. Oh, how he loved her, how he cherished her thoughtfulness and concern for his well being. She dragged him into the kitchen and sat him up on an unused chair. It creaked beneath him. Even inanimate didn't want to be near him.
“The first cut is always the deepest.” She sang to the dog as the lime green knife sliced off the first chunk. The dog wagged his tail and sat patiently, waiting for an order from his beloved mistress. Her smile was soft and genuine, reaching out to stroke the angel soft fur of his ear, “You like listening to my stories don’t you, sweetheart?” She cooed, turning back to the slowly decaying man in front of her. Masterfully slicing more, as if she had been a butcher in a past life or perhaps her Grandfather had passed on the trade through their blood line. He made an absolute killing in his lifetime. She stepped away from him, carrying the chunks of meat over to the stove, setting the ring aflame as she dumped the juicy flesh into her solitary pan. A splash of oil and quick adjustment of the settings and all they had to do was to wait until they were cooked through, we wouldn't want food poisoning now, would we? She buttoned up her jacket once more and dragged the half used corpse out to the chest freezer in her broken down shed. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. That was her Grandfather’s rule.
She set the two plates down at the table, ushering the Alsatian to come and sit with her. She tied a napkin around his neck as she always did when they ate supper together. His beautiful shiny coat didn’t keep itself, you know.
“Bon appetite, baby.” She gleamed, slicing the perfectly cooked meat and placing it in her watering mouth. He tastes as good as he looked. Her eyes wandered up to the oil painting of her Grandfather. He stared down, his black eyes shimmering in the candle light, his coy smile approving of her new twist on the old family recipe.
His eyes widened as the door swung open, revealing her to him. Her dense red hair, curled naturally around her soft oval face, her pale skin complimenting such vivid blue eyes. He remembered how easy it was to fall in love with her. He remembered how easy it was to fall out of love with her. She would lash out at the smallest things, throw chairs through windows and smash the chinaware when in a flurry. He enjoyed it so much; pushing her to the point of self-destruction. His being with her was practically a death wish. His cold eyes met her warm smile as he invited her inside his home; perhaps she had come to say sorry? He watched as her once gentle hands violently fingered the woodwork of his stately Victorian house, he cringed as she ran a palm over the large protruding dent she had made upon her leaving day. She is not well. She is sick in the head. Before he could question her being there his head came into contact with a heavy stone tile, whose sole purpose was to be laid on the kitchen floor.
She should go back. Clean up a bit, you know? No one likes a messy house, especially at this hour. Stubbing out her second cigarette she shot up from the aging wooden chair, running a rough hand through her un-brushed hair, unsure of what to do. He was still in there. God knows if he was still breathing. With any luck his breath would have ceased when his skull collapsed under her fingertips. The Alsatian brushed against her thigh, it was dinner time and he could smell it. She threw on her over-sized coat and grabbed the singular key hanging from the rack next to the front door, the frost biting at her exposed skin as she crept through the door of her secluded cabin. Upon popping open the boot a scent caught her nose, the scent of relief. It took everything she had in her to drag his body from the car to the front door, she allowed the lid of the trunk to slam itself shut as she heaved dead weight into her living room. She watched him slump against the tattered green sofa as she kicked the door shut behind her. The cheap smile returning to uncover her near perfect teeth. The Alsatian ran to her, wagging his tail in excitement. Oh, how he loved her, how he cherished her thoughtfulness and concern for his well being. She dragged him into the kitchen and sat him up on an unused chair. It creaked beneath him. Even inanimate didn't want to be near him.
“The first cut is always the deepest.” She sang to the dog as the lime green knife sliced off the first chunk. The dog wagged his tail and sat patiently, waiting for an order from his beloved mistress. Her smile was soft and genuine, reaching out to stroke the angel soft fur of his ear, “You like listening to my stories don’t you, sweetheart?” She cooed, turning back to the slowly decaying man in front of her. Masterfully slicing more, as if she had been a butcher in a past life or perhaps her Grandfather had passed on the trade through their blood line. He made an absolute killing in his lifetime. She stepped away from him, carrying the chunks of meat over to the stove, setting the ring aflame as she dumped the juicy flesh into her solitary pan. A splash of oil and quick adjustment of the settings and all they had to do was to wait until they were cooked through, we wouldn't want food poisoning now, would we? She buttoned up her jacket once more and dragged the half used corpse out to the chest freezer in her broken down shed. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. That was her Grandfather’s rule.
She set the two plates down at the table, ushering the Alsatian to come and sit with her. She tied a napkin around his neck as she always did when they ate supper together. His beautiful shiny coat didn’t keep itself, you know.
“Bon appetite, baby.” She gleamed, slicing the perfectly cooked meat and placing it in her watering mouth. He tastes as good as he looked. Her eyes wandered up to the oil painting of her Grandfather. He stared down, his black eyes shimmering in the candle light, his coy smile approving of her new twist on the old family recipe.