onions
April 13th, 2009
“Good grief, what is that smell, girl?”
She stuck out her tongue. “Onions.”
He balked, looking at her like she’d gone mad. “Onions? I hate them. Why are they here? What are you doing with them?”
“Cooking them. They’re good.” She held her wooden spoon out like a sword. “You used to like them.”
“That was then, girl. I don’t like ‘em now. I won’t eat.”
She shrugged. “Okay. More for me.” She giggled, the aroma from the cooking pot making her giddy. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was fussing and fidgeting. He hadn’t expected that answer, and was at a loss. Finally, he sat at the table with a loud grump.
“Fine, girl. Feed it to me.”
She swirled her spoon in the dark sludge in the pot, filled a bowl for him. She sat it on the table and stepped back. He tasted it, pulled a face, then dug in. “S’good. You made it through another day.”
She giggled, giddy still. Sparks flew off the tip of her spoon in her excitement as the young witch sat down with her mentor to share the meal.
