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Water Cress Soup
I sat there. Confused and terrified within this ancient world I found myself in. The odd, splotched paintings hung in agony upon a papered wall, and the gruesome colours that blended together to form the carpet left gaudy scars in my eyes every time I looked. I sat there, wondering why my mother had summoned me to such excruciating punishment. Outside the sky seemed to cast its depressing tinges upon me, as suddenly rain lashed down violently, beating against the earth like a cluster of spears. I put my hands in my head and let out an angry sigh.
‘Why oh why?’ I moaned within my head. ‘Why does mother send me to Grandma’s every weekend?’ I sat upon the creaking wooden chair, desperate and distraught. I wanted the floor to gape open and swallow me up. Outside the rain continued to beat down upon the ancient setup my grandma called ‘her house’. Odd Japanese ornaments cluttered up the living room, sweltering in dust and streaked with cracks. Above me, a grand chandelier beamed light down upon me like the burning sun in the sky. Her old, dusty fireplace coughed out a flame or two, keeping me warm for short periods of time. In the corner sat a 1930s television, blaring out black and white images, and piercing the disturbing atmosphere with some ear-piercing sound. As the rain lashed down, the TV crackled like the laughter of a baby.
I could hear the old women in the kitchen, preparing for me her favourite meal for me. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box my grandma and I think I could go as far as saying she was the bluntest tool, thrown out of the box into the waste. She would steadily trot around the house, commenting on how I’d grown every time I slipped into the corner of her eye. She would wear such dated clothes, and her kitchen pinny was literally glued to her aged body. Her face was scarred with wrinkles like grooves in the Grand Canyon, and her hair as white as freshly fallen snow. She would wear huge, thick glasses that occupied her face like two car wheels, as her beady eyes would pierce the face of anyone who looked at her. She was a stout, cranky old girl, and although I loved her to bits, at the same time I loathed her for sheer embarrassment.
Every weekend my mum would drop me off at this gloomy prison. Apparently, I ‘wasn’t seeing enough of our lovely grandma,’ and ever since my mum spoke those words last year, she had lived by them religiously. I could actually put up with dear old grandma, even though every time we went for walks in the park my face would blotch redder than a dollop of tomato ketchup. But I could get by with her. However, there was one aspect of her dear little life that if I experience any more I’m sure I will jump off a cliff; her cooking.
By God her food is repulsive. Our dear old grandma’s cooking can make Cod Liver Oil taste gorgeous. Every single dish she prepared was overcooked, disgusting and basically completely messed up. But somehow I have got by. Everytime I take a bite a completely false smile melts onto my face when she looks at me, and I am barely able to splutter out the words ‘Very nice gran.’ God her cooking is abysmal. But there is one dish she prepares the most, and it is the most pulsating thing I have and will ever taste in all my life; Water cress soup.
Suddenly my grandma walked into the room, trotting along at her snail’s pace and carrying a bowl of steaming grime. I put my head in my hands. ‘Not again,’ I gritted through my teeth ‘Not Water cress soup!’ She placed the bowl before me, and sat at the other end of the table. The steam wafted gently off the bowl like thick, black smoke, and I almost threw up when I set eyes upon the contents.
Inside sat a watery mixture of God knows what, screaming at me to be eaten. A swirl of tinted green infested within the watery mixture, as pieces of stray vegetables floated gently on top like wooden logs flowing down a stream. My hands trembled as I picked up the stained wooden spoon next to my bowl. I caught a sniff of the repulsive smell that drifted from the bowl, and I put my hand over my mouth, and then placed my spoon into the liquidised paste she had served up before me. I couldn’t eat this filth; I may catch some dreadful disease from it. The lagging smell crushed me, as I struggled to breathe properly. For the first time in my short life I lost the will to live. My life suddenly flashed before me.
‘Now eat up,’ my grandma croaked…
Thanks to Hibey
I sat there. Confused and terrified within this ancient world I found myself in. The odd, splotched paintings hung in agony upon a papered wall, and the gruesome colours that blended together to form the carpet left gaudy scars in my eyes every time I looked. I sat there, wondering why my mother had summoned me to such excruciating punishment. Outside the sky seemed to cast its depressing tinges upon me, as suddenly rain lashed down violently, beating against the earth like a cluster of spears. I put my hands in my head and let out an angry sigh.
‘Why oh why?’ I moaned within my head. ‘Why does mother send me to Grandma’s every weekend?’ I sat upon the creaking wooden chair, desperate and distraught. I wanted the floor to gape open and swallow me up. Outside the rain continued to beat down upon the ancient setup my grandma called ‘her house’. Odd Japanese ornaments cluttered up the living room, sweltering in dust and streaked with cracks. Above me, a grand chandelier beamed light down upon me like the burning sun in the sky. Her old, dusty fireplace coughed out a flame or two, keeping me warm for short periods of time. In the corner sat a 1930s television, blaring out black and white images, and piercing the disturbing atmosphere with some ear-piercing sound. As the rain lashed down, the TV crackled like the laughter of a baby.
I could hear the old women in the kitchen, preparing for me her favourite meal for me. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box my grandma and I think I could go as far as saying she was the bluntest tool, thrown out of the box into the waste. She would steadily trot around the house, commenting on how I’d grown every time I slipped into the corner of her eye. She would wear such dated clothes, and her kitchen pinny was literally glued to her aged body. Her face was scarred with wrinkles like grooves in the Grand Canyon, and her hair as white as freshly fallen snow. She would wear huge, thick glasses that occupied her face like two car wheels, as her beady eyes would pierce the face of anyone who looked at her. She was a stout, cranky old girl, and although I loved her to bits, at the same time I loathed her for sheer embarrassment.
Every weekend my mum would drop me off at this gloomy prison. Apparently, I ‘wasn’t seeing enough of our lovely grandma,’ and ever since my mum spoke those words last year, she had lived by them religiously. I could actually put up with dear old grandma, even though every time we went for walks in the park my face would blotch redder than a dollop of tomato ketchup. But I could get by with her. However, there was one aspect of her dear little life that if I experience any more I’m sure I will jump off a cliff; her cooking.
By God her food is repulsive. Our dear old grandma’s cooking can make Cod Liver Oil taste gorgeous. Every single dish she prepared was overcooked, disgusting and basically completely messed up. But somehow I have got by. Everytime I take a bite a completely false smile melts onto my face when she looks at me, and I am barely able to splutter out the words ‘Very nice gran.’ God her cooking is abysmal. But there is one dish she prepares the most, and it is the most pulsating thing I have and will ever taste in all my life; Water cress soup.
Suddenly my grandma walked into the room, trotting along at her snail’s pace and carrying a bowl of steaming grime. I put my head in my hands. ‘Not again,’ I gritted through my teeth ‘Not Water cress soup!’ She placed the bowl before me, and sat at the other end of the table. The steam wafted gently off the bowl like thick, black smoke, and I almost threw up when I set eyes upon the contents.
Inside sat a watery mixture of God knows what, screaming at me to be eaten. A swirl of tinted green infested within the watery mixture, as pieces of stray vegetables floated gently on top like wooden logs flowing down a stream. My hands trembled as I picked up the stained wooden spoon next to my bowl. I caught a sniff of the repulsive smell that drifted from the bowl, and I put my hand over my mouth, and then placed my spoon into the liquidised paste she had served up before me. I couldn’t eat this filth; I may catch some dreadful disease from it. The lagging smell crushed me, as I struggled to breathe properly. For the first time in my short life I lost the will to live. My life suddenly flashed before me.
‘Now eat up,’ my grandma croaked…
Thanks to Hibey
did they even HAVE televisions in the 1930s? just curious. lol.
You inspired me Hibey :)
:^D
Water Cress Soup
I sat there. Confused and terrified within this ancient world I found myself in. The odd, splotched paintings hung in agony upon a papered wall, and the gruesome colours that blended together to form the carpet left gaudy scars in my eyes every time I looked. I sat there, wondering why my mother had summoned me to such excruciating punishment. Outside the sky seemed to cast its depressing tinges upon me, as suddenly rain lashed down violently, beating against the earth like a cluster of spears. I put my hands in my head and let out an angry sigh.
‘Why oh why?’ I moaned within my head. ‘Why does mother send me to Grandma’s every weekend?’ I sat upon the creaking wooden chair, desperate and distraught. I wanted the floor to gape open and swallow me up. Outside the rain continued to beat down upon the ancient setup my grandma called ‘her house’. Odd Japanese ornaments cluttered up the living room, sweltering in dust and streaked with cracks. Above me, a grand chandelier beamed light down upon me like the burning sun in the sky. Her old, dusty fireplace coughed out a flame or two, keeping me warm for short periods of time. In the corner sat a 1930s television, blaring out black and white images, and piercing the disturbing atmosphere with some ear-piercing sound. As the rain lashed down, the TV crackled like the laughter of a baby.
I could hear the old women in the kitchen, preparing for me her favourite meal for me. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box my grandma and I think I could go as far as saying she was the bluntest tool, thrown out of the box into the waste. She would steadily trot around the house, commenting on how I’d grown every time I slipped into the corner of her eye. She would wear such dated clothes, and her kitchen pinny was literally glued to her aged body. Her face was scarred with wrinkles like grooves in the Grand Canyon, and her hair as white as freshly fallen snow. She would wear huge, thick glasses that occupied her face like two car wheels, as her beady eyes would pierce the face of anyone who looked at her. She was a stout, cranky old girl, and although I loved her to bits, at the same time I loathed her for sheer embarrassment.
Every weekend my mum would drop me off at this gloomy prison. Apparently, I ‘wasn’t seeing enough of our lovely grandma,’ and ever since my mum spoke those words last year, she had lived by them religiously. I could actually put up with dear old grandma, even though every time we went for walks in the park my face would blotch redder than a dollop of tomato ketchup. But I could get by with her. However, there was one aspect of her dear little life that if I experience any more I’m sure I will jump off a cliff; her cooking.
By God her food is repulsive. Our dear old grandma’s cooking can make Cod Liver Oil taste gorgeous. Every single dish she prepared was overcooked, disgusting and basically completely messed up. But somehow I have got by. Everytime I take a bite a completely false smile melts onto my face when she looks at me, and I am barely able to splutter out the words ‘Very nice gran.’ God her cooking is abysmal. But there is one dish she prepares the most, and it is the most pulsating thing I have and will ever taste in all my life; Water cress soup.
Suddenly my grandma walked into the room, trotting along at her snail’s pace and carrying a bowl of steaming grime. I put my head in my hands. ‘Not again,’ I gritted through my teeth ‘Not Water cress soup!’ She placed the bowl before me, and sat at the other end of the table. The steam wafted gently off the bowl like thick, black smoke, and I almost threw up when I set eyes upon the contents.
Inside sat a watery mixture of God knows what, screaming at me to be eaten. A swirl of tinted green infested within the watery mixture, as pieces of stray vegetables floated gently on top like wooden logs flowing down a stream. My hands trembled as I picked up the stained wooden spoon next to my bowl. I caught a sniff of the repulsive smell that drifted from the bowl, and I put my hand over my mouth, and then placed my spoon into the liquidised paste she had served up before me. I couldn’t eat this filth; I may catch some dreadful disease from it. The lagging smell crushed me, as I struggled to breathe properly. For the first time in my short life I lost the will to live. My life suddenly flashed before me.
‘Now eat up,’ my grandma croaked…
Thanks to Hibey
I sat there. Confused and terrified within this ancient world I found myself in. The odd, splotched paintings hung in agony upon a papered wall, and the gruesome colours that blended together to form the carpet left gaudy scars in my eyes every time I looked. I sat there, wondering why my mother had summoned me to such excruciating punishment. Outside the sky seemed to cast its depressing tinges upon me, as suddenly rain lashed down violently, beating against the earth like a cluster of spears. I put my hands in my head and let out an angry sigh.
‘Why oh why?’ I moaned within my head. ‘Why does mother send me to Grandma’s every weekend?’ I sat upon the creaking wooden chair, desperate and distraught. I wanted the floor to gape open and swallow me up. Outside the rain continued to beat down upon the ancient setup my grandma called ‘her house’. Odd Japanese ornaments cluttered up the living room, sweltering in dust and streaked with cracks. Above me, a grand chandelier beamed light down upon me like the burning sun in the sky. Her old, dusty fireplace coughed out a flame or two, keeping me warm for short periods of time. In the corner sat a 1930s television, blaring out black and white images, and piercing the disturbing atmosphere with some ear-piercing sound. As the rain lashed down, the TV crackled like the laughter of a baby.
I could hear the old women in the kitchen, preparing for me her favourite meal for me. She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box my grandma and I think I could go as far as saying she was the bluntest tool, thrown out of the box into the waste. She would steadily trot around the house, commenting on how I’d grown every time I slipped into the corner of her eye. She would wear such dated clothes, and her kitchen pinny was literally glued to her aged body. Her face was scarred with wrinkles like grooves in the Grand Canyon, and her hair as white as freshly fallen snow. She would wear huge, thick glasses that occupied her face like two car wheels, as her beady eyes would pierce the face of anyone who looked at her. She was a stout, cranky old girl, and although I loved her to bits, at the same time I loathed her for sheer embarrassment.
Every weekend my mum would drop me off at this gloomy prison. Apparently, I ‘wasn’t seeing enough of our lovely grandma,’ and ever since my mum spoke those words last year, she had lived by them religiously. I could actually put up with dear old grandma, even though every time we went for walks in the park my face would blotch redder than a dollop of tomato ketchup. But I could get by with her. However, there was one aspect of her dear little life that if I experience any more I’m sure I will jump off a cliff; her cooking.
By God her food is repulsive. Our dear old grandma’s cooking can make Cod Liver Oil taste gorgeous. Every single dish she prepared was overcooked, disgusting and basically completely messed up. But somehow I have got by. Everytime I take a bite a completely false smile melts onto my face when she looks at me, and I am barely able to splutter out the words ‘Very nice gran.’ God her cooking is abysmal. But there is one dish she prepares the most, and it is the most pulsating thing I have and will ever taste in all my life; Water cress soup.
Suddenly my grandma walked into the room, trotting along at her snail’s pace and carrying a bowl of steaming grime. I put my head in my hands. ‘Not again,’ I gritted through my teeth ‘Not Water cress soup!’ She placed the bowl before me, and sat at the other end of the table. The steam wafted gently off the bowl like thick, black smoke, and I almost threw up when I set eyes upon the contents.
Inside sat a watery mixture of God knows what, screaming at me to be eaten. A swirl of tinted green infested within the watery mixture, as pieces of stray vegetables floated gently on top like wooden logs flowing down a stream. My hands trembled as I picked up the stained wooden spoon next to my bowl. I caught a sniff of the repulsive smell that drifted from the bowl, and I put my hand over my mouth, and then placed my spoon into the liquidised paste she had served up before me. I couldn’t eat this filth; I may catch some dreadful disease from it. The lagging smell crushed me, as I struggled to breathe properly. For the first time in my short life I lost the will to live. My life suddenly flashed before me.
‘Now eat up,’ my grandma croaked…
Thanks to Hibey