He recalled the great memories of yesterday’s rice meal he
had made. It was delicious. His stomach rumbled just from the thought of it.
Not because he was hungry and had just returned from work, but because it was
that good. It was scrumptious. He closed his eyes and imagined just how amazing
it was going to be. It was so good, he was going to make it again today. And it
will be epic. Epicly delicious, that is.
He reached up for the pot. Oh, it was still soaking in the
sink. He scrubbed it clean and wiped it dry. This was going to be delicious. So
flavorful. So tasty. So much spice. He smiled at the pot. He liked that pot.
In went the rice, and the chicken. They danced together for
a bit. The chicken and rice, not him. Then in went the water. Again, they swam
together. Such harmony in a pot. He stirred them up a bit. Beautiful. He
reached up for the spices. He wasn’t going to hold back on this one. The spices
went in, greeting the pieces of chicken and enveloping the rice. The aroma
warmed him up. Again, his stomach rumbled.
He looked into the little fridge down below. He grimaced at
the petrified bananas. He will have to deal with that sooner or later. The
problem with dealing with that was he would have to touch them. He did not like
to touch such disgusting things. He should have eaten them before he went on
his trip. But he didn’t. Now they were petrified, and he did not like them
anymore. He closed the fridge and looked at the garbage bin. It was nearly
full. He would have to deal with that also. He gave a little sigh. It was
tiresome, but he had no one else to do it for him. Or at least with him. It would be nice to have company sometimes, he
thought. Even if it was just to throw out garbage.
He looked next to the garbage bin, where the trashbags were.
The clean ones. There were still plenty. You would think that if there were
rules that you had to use a specific type of trashbag, then you should be
provided with those trashbags, or they should at least be cheap. They were
neither. The trash police would just love to come and arrest him for using the
wrong bag. What pleasure did they gain from seeing uniform garbage bags in the
big dumpster, he could never figure out. He closed the door.
She would like to hear
that, about the trashbags. He thought to himself. He made a mental note to
himself to tell her that when he saw her. She was easily amused, he found. And
when she was amused, her eyes lit up, her ears perked up, her nose pointed
towards the things that interested her. Even her cheeks would start to glow.
There were so many stories he wanted to share with her, just so he could see
her amusement at those stories; but he only had so much time..and sometimes, it
was so hard to find the words.
He thought of the night they had met, she told him something
about serpents that made their way into her home when she was young. He
shivered a little. He wanted nothing to do with such creatures. She had shown
him a book. Her scribble book, she called it. She said she had finally learned
to draw a dog. He wondered for a while if he could draw a dog. Perhaps later he
will try. He remembered she had pushed her inquisitive nose forward, and with
bright shining eyes, asked if he wanted to add anything to her scribble book. He
was at a loss then. She shoved at him a handful of colored pens and looked
expectantly at him. He really didn’t know what to write, at the time. Something witty, something she will
remember, something that will make her think of me, he had wanted. None of
that came to mind. He was tired that night. Dead tired. But he remembered how
hard it was to claw himself away from her. He closed his eyes, reminiscing that
beautiful night.
Something was popping next to him. He opened one eye, and
looked around. Ah! It was the rice. It was cooked. Dinner is ready.
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