Most of us have heard the saying, “that’s the best thing since sliced bread”. What do you think is actually the best thing since sliced bread? In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Sliced Bread.”
I took a sip from the coffee mug, the sweet bitter taste rested on my tongue, good as ever, I told myself. But something’s lacking, this is breakfast time, I need more. On top of the fridge was a sliced loaf of bread, whole wheat. I untied the bag pulled two slices and pop them in the toaster after which I spread peanut butter, “it gives you energy”, as my boyfriend tells me that his mother used to tell him, too. I went back to my room, sat on a swivel chair fronting the window, coffee on hand and peanut butter sandwich on the other. Finally, this room is turning into my writer’s den after disposing half of its content I finally decided most of my stuff are cluttering my life and holding me back to move on. A black smoke rises from a nearby building.
Long time ago, I used to see this little girl around 6-7 years old on some days walking to the corner store, while her mother was busy doing housework and tending to younger children this little girl finds herself useful helping her mother around doing some errands particularly getting supplies from the community store. It was an easy task. The store is a two story house located on the corner, its owner and his family lives on the upper floor while the first floor was turned into a community hall with a couple of tables and chairs where men and women gather to play cards or dominoes at the end of the day until late at night evolving into a bar. However, the store itself has its own room secured with a door presumably to protect the inventories inside. Early in the morning when most people are sleeping that place is almost empty as people come and go to pick up their needed morning supplies like milk, eggs, bread or butter. When this little girl gets there the store owner knows her and she says what her mother told her, some days to get salted rolls, or sweet rolls, a bar of soap or a bleach, it depends. Whatever her mother says. This little girl just wants to be of help in her own little way. But there is always a black smoke lurking around. One day the store owner ask her to come inside the store as he open the door for her. There was something fishy with the door opening, it was never opened to non family members, it was always locked. She wanted to run away but what would she tell her mom. Worse was the old man and owner was offering her these small cute chocolate boxes that she loved so much where she puts her paper dolls to sleep. Maybe she could just grab the boxes then run away. Slowly inching her way while the old man was tending to the other customers. But he was fast, as she step inside the door, he nudged her trying to pin her on the wall, then unzip his trousers. Her eyes were on the boxes she grabbed them from his hands, a new customer came, he pulled his zippers up. She got out of the door then ran towards their house. “Where’s the soap?” The first thing her mother said looking at her. She was mute. Trying to find the right words, where or when to begin. There was no time to think about what she saw while her mother was continuously firing questions about the soap she was to get from the store.
I never saw her again after that time. Unless when it’s daylight. When I got the chance to ask her, she still couldn’t put words together for what she saw.