I don't have a name for it, but everyone I've showed it to thinks it's good. (Please be nice)
When the couple and their seventy-five friends went to the reception hall, they found Aaron, and the defaced cake having toppled to the floor. The bride’s scream, frightening and raw, brought another rush of tears to Aaron’s eyes. The boy searched the crowd for rescue. His mother, among the crowd of faces, stayed in her place. Aaron’s foolish, red face stirred her anger. For the boy was too old to be scooped up, apologized for and taken home for a short scolding and a long, forgiving embrace.
Aaron’s dumpy, bruised and oddly bent legs had carried him away from the moving ceremony, held in an old house belonging to the bride’s parents. Although beautiful, the unfamiliar rooms were oddly placed. Thus, when stumbling down the hall, the boy fell through an open door and found the library, decorated with flowers and prepared for the reception.
The fool was over taken by the warm hold one gets when one is somewhere he or she should not be, but wants nothing more than anything to stay, for upon the table at the far end of the library was the cake. It stood four tiers, and was a creamy off white. Thick ribbons of yellow icing cascaded down the sides.
Beside the cake, there was a little girl, dressed in a soft, pastel pink dress, hair tied in a bow. Her eyes and mouth gaped. She was somehow familiar, but the sight of her troubled the thoughtless boy.
“Isn’t it swell?” she asked, a grin spreading across her face.
Aaron tried moving closer, tripping and falling to his knees. His childish inquisitiveness pulled him up again and again until he reached her side.
“Are we allowed to have some?”
The girl turned her head and looked at her new companion. His face was pudgy, and his left eye was black and blue, his nose was running and his clumsy cheeks were blushing red.
Her continuous, wide gaze fell on his bruised eyelid.
Aaron snapped his wrist mechanically. His hand fell over his vision.
The girl turned back to the cake.
“Don’t do that!” Aaron shrieked.
The girl’s tongue lapped off a thin stripe of yellow. Slowly her puckered lips pressed against the butter-cream. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened. Her teeth closed.
Aaron stared in horror, his weak legs failing to carry him away from the scene. Sure enough the girl was able to swallow much of the cake, half of the bottom tier.
Tears streamed down Aaron’s face. “Help, I need to go” he called out to his limbs. The bones in his legs cracked and creaked; he tumbled onto his back and held his head under his thick arms. His pathetic cries paired with screams of pain.
The cake leaned and broke, falling to the floor. Aaron’s tears began to slow, the girl ran off, giggling and blowing the boy a kiss as she ran. But Aaron didn’t see her gesture, his eyes locked in a stare with the cake lying beside him.
