The Last Cinnamon Sunday

So, I've started a piece for Tales of Blood & Roses. It's an idea I had a while ago, but finally got around to... executing. Sure, the beginning seems very nice and wholesome, but with the title, you can imagine it won't be long before all hell breaks loose. You can catch the rest at the ToB&R reading on July 14, 6:30PM. Enjoy this taste, for now.

I wake to cold dampness darting around my face and the sounds of tinny explosions and music. I slowly spread my eyes open. Princess Leia is staring at me, longingly. She loves me. I gently shove her off me, slip into my robe and head downstairs, Leia at my heels.

I say good morning to Donovan as I pass his room. He blurts out a quick Hi! without looking away from his game. Donny is too busy killing things. He loves killing things. Thankfully, everything he kills is digital—binary villains, a threat to none but his own ego. I descend.

Once in the kitchen, I reach out to turn on the oven on my way to the sink. I don’t even look. I don’t have to. I’ve done this for so often that I know how far to twist the dial to get the oven to 400. I fill the kettle, set it on the stove and turn on the burner. When I get to the back door, Leia is already there. She pops a paw at the knob, as if I needed a reminder. I open it, and she darts out.

I’m  greeted by a chorus of mewing near the back door. I step over to Lola and Mouser, give them each a rub, open their food tin and fill their bowls. I make my way over to the fridge, pull out the bacon and a tube of cinnamon rolls, set them on the counter. I grab the bag of Sumatran and grind  enough beans for a pot. That wonderful aroma—a perfect blend of earth, moss, nut & spice—fills the air. The kettle whistles just as I pour the this perfection into the press.

I turn off the burner and pour the water over the freshly ground beans. The aroma explodes throughout the kitchen, spreads through the house. I layer the bacon on a cookie sheet. I prefer to bake the bacon to keep it long and flat. I arrange the rolls into a round cake pan, set them on the counter while the bacon begins to slowly sizzle.

The smell of brewing coffee has awakened the Goddess. This, too, is as expected. I turn in time to find her lips, exactly where they are supposed to be. I kiss them. “Good morning,” she says. Cinnamon Sunday has begun.