A Recipe for a Family Secret

Ingredients

One egg.

A pinch of salt aannndd just enough sugar to choke down a younger sibling who happens to have the same skin tone as your father.

You’ll need half a cup of love, just enough to know what it tastes like but keep it always half empty.

A whole pantry full of poor. So full that’s all that youthere’s room for inside.

Two potatoes, but not the real kind, the rocks you used to pretend were potatoes so you could play at not being poor.

Neglect.

Fear.

Guilt.

Shame.

Abandonment.

Abuse.

But only enough so that you can taste them.

Sprinkled like a sweet surprise, sparse enough to stay secret until fully blended with the rest of the ingredients.

Oh, the most important one,

A heaping tablespoon of some other man’s DNA.

 

Tools You Will Need

Have you ever noticed some people add this section to their recipes? Isn’t it just to point out all of the things you can’t afford in your kitchen? Baking is less of a science than they lead you to believe. Any spoon is a tablespoon if you try hard enough.

Your imagination is the only tool you’ll ever need, right? Or is that what they just tell the people who don’t have enough? You WILL need a wooden spatula, which I bet you think is for stirring, but is actually perfect for beating.

Directions

Use tools to combine ingredients.

Pick the eggshells out of the batter; someone will notice they’re in there eventually.  Put them on the floor and just keep walking on them.

If anyone objects, beat them with the wooden spatula.

If anyone argues, beat THEM with the wooden spatula.

Only threaten them in public, though. Don’t show everyone else what it’s really like when you’re angry.
Bake time depends on the size pan you are using, note the following for desired results;

For mostly fine but maybe people would say you were always an angry child with a slight temper, bake until 8 years old.

For burnt enough that it’s starting to taste like it. For “I’ll make up for this when I’m older” for “I’ll break out of this jail sentence at 18 and start my life over” bake until 16.

For a hardened piece of black carbon, a shell so firm and brittle if you push hard enough the whole thing crumbles to dust. For wedding band handcuffs and for diapers that are doing time with you barely decomposing at the dump. Bake until 24.

See, these things are divisible by ate, because this is what we have already fed you.

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