I wrote this story for a creative writing exercise.
Cyril grabbed a chopping board and thumped it down on the bench top. He slid open a draw and pulled out a long, wicked knife. Carefully he placed it on the board. Then he went to the bookshelf and fetched a huge cooking book. He staggered back to the bench, his arms straining to hold it up. Thump. He dropped it thankfully onto the bench top.
“Now, what shall I cook,” he wondered. There were so many recipes. There were soups and salads, pizza and pasta, dinners and desserts. Which one to choose? Cyril thought very hard for a moment, before closing his eyes. He’d just have to open the book at a random page. He grabbed at the book. Ouch! His eyes flew open. His had closed around the sharp knife.
He dropped the knife like a hot potato. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Cyril jumped from foot to foot, trying to keep away from that horrible knife. He looked down at his hand. Blood was pouring out of the long, deep cut. It dripped down onto the side, forming a large lake.
Quickly Cyril grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it round his hand. Then he hurried to the cupboard. What could he put on his hand to stop the bleeding? He reached up with his good hand and the blood soaked tea towel slipped to the floor. Blood dripped onto the tiles. Cyril groaned. More mess. He grabbed a box of bandaids and collapsed onto a stool.
Cyril poured all the bandaids out of the box and onto the bench top. He ripped one open and stuck it over the cut. That wasn’t any good. The bandaid was too small. He tore open another. Then another. Soon his hand was a ball of neon coloured bandaids. The cut was covered. No more blood seeped through.
Cyril went back to the cook book. He flipped it open. Spaghetti Bolognese. That didn’t look too hard to make. He went to the fridge to fetch the first ingredients: carrots and celery.
He dumped them on the chopping board and reached for the knife. Then he stopped. The knife was on the floor where he’d dropped it. Oh well, he wasn’t about to use it now. Cyril grabbed the food processor instead and chucked in the carrots and celery. Then he pressed the start button.
Whiz! The food processor jumped into life, shredding the vegetables in seconds. Cyril leaned over it, trying to see if the carrots were all cut up.
“Argh!” he yelled as the food processor sucked his tie up through the chute. It pulled his head closer and closer to the blade. Cyril felt around for the off button. His groping fingers hit something. At once the food processor blade spun faster and faster, getting closer and closer to his head as it sucked him in.
In a sudden burst of energy, Cyril wrenched himself free. The carrots and celery were flying out the top of the food processor. He hit the off switch and everything went very still and quiet. Cyril wiped the sweat off his forehead. That was a narrow escape. He looked down at his tie. It wasn’t there anymore. He peered cautiously down into the vegetables. If he looked very hard he was almost sure he could see shredded fabric in there.
“Wiggly Jigglys,” he said, very annoyed. “That was my favourite tie.”
He turned back to the cook book. Onions were next on the list. He hurried to the pantry and pulled out the onions. Then he looked at the book. It said to peel and dice them. So Cyril took a potato peeler and peeled the skin off. Tears poured down his cheeks as the onion juice stung his eyes.
He chucked the onion into a cooking pot. Then he stopped and thought. Wasn’t he supposed to dice them? But how did you dice something? He had some playing dice in his pocket. Would they do? He threw them into the pot as well.
Then Cyril found some tinned tomatoes. They had to be pureed. He plugged in the stick blender, poured the tomatoes into a jug, and turned it on. Splat! Tomato went everywhere. Cyril pulled the blending stick out of the jug. More tomato flew out. He turned it off and looked around. Everything was covered in red, even his nice white shirt.
“Oh Wiggly Jigglys!” Cyril cried. “This cooking is hard. He kicked the bench in his annoyance.
“OW!” he howled, hopping around on one foot.
He limped back to the book. Put in the meat, it said. He grabbed the frozen mince meat and dumped it in the pot. Add the tomatoes. He poured them in. And the vegetables. He threw those in too. He hobbled back to the cook book. What next?
Ring! Ring! It was the phone. Cyril snatched it up. It was Great Aunt Pauline. Cyril collapsed thankfully on the stool. He would just talk for a few minutes…
Some time later Cyril sniffed the air. And sniffed again. And then the smoke alarm went off, deafening him with its shriek. He dropped the phone back into its cradle without even saying goodbye to Aunt Pauline. He jumped up and flew to turn off the smoke alarm.
Cyril returned to the kitchen, his ears still ringing from the shrieking alarm. He took a look at the stove. Smoke was pouring out of the cooking pot. He turned off the ring and peeped fearfully into pan. All that was left of his dinner was a blackened lump sticking to the bottom of the pot.
At that very moment, the smoke alarm went off again. His cat ran up his leg and sat on his head, digging in her claws as she tried to escape from the noise. The phone ran again. And the ruined dinner smoked sullenly in the pot.
Cyril sat on the floor in the middle of the mess, his head in his hands. Everything was ruined. His kitchen was a mess, his dinner was ruined, the cat wouldn’t get off his head, and his hand still hurt badly.
His stomach rumbled. But there was nothing to eat. What could he have for dinner? He thought very hard for a moment with his worn out brain. Then he jumped to his feet and ran to the door, grabbing his car keys as he went.
“Mc Donalds!” he cried as the door slammed shut behind him.
What disasters have you had in your kitchen?