Pancakes

Photo by Calum Lewis on Unsplash 

I didn’t know what it was about pancakes, but I could never get enough.  My family didn’t understand my obsession and I never could stop trying to explain my love with the delicious meal.  My newest mission was to make my own syrup.  I was trying to convince my parents to get a part-time job to pay for syrup making lessons, but hadn’t convinced them yet.  As I dove deeper into wanting to make syrup, I found myself spending more time in the kitchen, making more than just pancakes.  While I never lost my love for pancakes and syrup, I started to become obsessed with food in all forms.  

“When will you learn?” My father grumbled as he shoved the sauteed vegetables across the table.  I tried to not let his attitude break my joy of cooking, partially because he was always complaining and partially due to the fact I knew he would complain about vegetables.  He still didn’t know why I was still into cooking and barely even acknowledged the food I cooked.  He thought all money was wasted on fresh food and only wanted us to eat frozen food accompanied by meat.  What he didn’t realize was what I could do with the food I cooked.  What I could do where no one would ever find out what had happened to him.  He could simply disappear and leave my family in peace.  The only point of contention would be when to poison his food.