Horror
Mother's Chocolate Cake
Every year on my husband William's birthday, I was required to make him a cake. The first time I was more than happy to prepare his perfect chocolate cake. It was his mother's recipe and it was fairly simple to follow, or so I thought.
By Stephanie Downard5 years ago in Fiction
A Little Chocolate Never Hurt
A smile played on Kara's lips as she set a pan into the oven, humming a tune as she did so. Flour was speckled on her arms and hands, bright against the darkness of her skin. Her smile and song were cheerful as she cleaned, placing her ingredients back into their homes. When she was done, she went back to the couch, scrolling on her phone and waiting for the timer to ding its merry little melody.
By Alana Stickles5 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Layers
Henry was a middle aged mildly attractive man. What he lacked in looks he made up for with words. He loved getting the attention from the ladies. It didn't really matter how they looked, just as long as they tuned into what he said and believed him.
By Miranda Moore5 years ago in Fiction
Devil’s Food Cake
I’m not sure how I became sentient. I just know that I am aware—fully, truly self-aware—right now. My origin story is made up of a hodgepodge of pieces. Flour. Butter. Salt. Sugar. Eggs. Cocoa powder. Milk. Baking soda. Essentially, I'm a combination of starches and sugars, fats and leavening agents, all married in precise ratios. Exterior heat allowed me to rise slowly, creating bubbles of carbon dioxide. The gluten in my veins was perfectly textured—slowly beaten into my batter, but not overworked.
By Jordan Gilletti5 years ago in Fiction
It is death by chocolate.
‘This is all for you’ I tell myself as I allow my eyes to glance over the ingredients on the table top. I thought about us in the restaurant that night. Checkered table cloth with spits of red wine. You, holding my slightly glazed palm as the diamond you were placing on my finger winked up at me. The moment itself was heavy, and clung onto my mind like syrup, slowly dripping down my temple.
By Jodie Mackay5 years ago in Fiction
The Bennington Family
Mr. Bennington is a tall and burly man, clean shaven, always wears a paddy hat, has a strong Irish catholic demeanor, and believes in two things: God and family, in that order. During the day he works in the lead mines and after he finishes his shift returns home to spend time with his wife, Maggie, and his eldest son Richard, followed by James and the youngest is Daniel. On top of this, he spends quite a bit of time working in his cotton fields with his eldest boys, but he preferred to work in the garden, which he would say was his favorite chore, but if you were to ask the boys why he liked it then they would reply “because mom is there.” In the evenings, his favorite activity is to drink a single glass of Tennessee whiskey which he describes as the only kind of whiskey worth drinking and pairs it with a cigar, if he has one available.
By Jonathan Klarich5 years ago in Fiction
Death by Chocolate
DING-dong-DING The unexpected sound of the doorbell shook Alex from his afternoon slumber. “Whothehellcanatbe?” he slurred as he sat up on his couch, wiping his eyes and bracing himself. “Damn solicitors, stupid ass postman,” Alex muttered under his breath as he pushed himself up, slipped on his socked feet into his black slides and made his way to the front door. His six foot two frame allowed him to flip up the small curtain and look out the slender pane of clear glass decorating the door. His irritation mellowed into a sly grin as the offending bell ringer was not a salesman or postman, but rather one of the current object of his affection – Rebecca.
By Trini Gonzalez5 years ago in Fiction
