Cake

In today's story, Cake, thoughts of sweets freely ramble

Today's prompt is a loose stream of consciousness ramble that begins with sleeping on a bed made of chocolate cake. Or something like that... Sometimes stories have less story and more nonsense. This is one of those times. 

As always, this story was written from the prompt, with no planning and very little editing. If you enjoy today's story, please share it with your friends and leave a review for Freely Written. Thank you!


More about Susan Quilty

Susan Quilty mainly writes novels, including two standalone novels and her current YA series: The Psychic Traveler Society.  Susan's short stories for Freely Written are created during quick writing breaks and shared as a way to practice her narration skills before she dives into recording audio versions of her novels.

Website:  SusanQuilty.com
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Transcript

Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 111 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:

Welcome to Freely Written where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction. 

[Light piano music]

Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty and today’s prompt is Cake. 

Today’s prompt is a little bit of a cheat from my usual process. Typically, I start with a word or phrase as a prompt and sit down to write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing, and then I share that story with you. Today, the story opens with a sentence that came to me when I first woke up this morning. 

The sentence came out of nowhere. If it was from a dream, I don’t remember any of the dream. I was in a very drowsy, half-awake state when I thought of the sentence. It’s rather nonsensical and, when I sat down to write this story, I had no idea where the sentence would lead. So, I’ll say it’s still in the spirit of my usual process. Though the prompt I’m using for the title, Cake, is just one word of the sentence.

I will share that last night was the first good, full night of sleep I’ve had in the last two weeks. Whenever I have a good night’s sleep after a stretch of insomnia, I tend to be very drowsy the following morning. Sort of caught in an almost dreaming, half-awake state. It’s weird but pleasant. Though I do hope I can make solid sleep a regular thing so I can wake up without that drowsy drag of dreams and get a quicker start on my days.

Now, let’s get on to the story:

Cake

I want to sleep on a giant chocolate cake. Not frosted, but warm and slightly springy. Maybe with a dusting of powdered sugar. Enough to make the surface soft and silky. 

There are some people in the world with enough money to make that happen. They could sell one of their mega-yachts to build a special bed-sized cake oven and have a fresh cake bed made each day. They could wake up dusted in powdered sugar and eat a handful of cake to start their day. They could laugh at the rest of us, saying, “Let them eat cake, I sleep on mine!”

They probably wouldn’t even have to sell a mega-yacht to do it. 

That’s a mix of emotions. Joy at the fun of a cake bed muddled up with resentment that there are people who could afford that in a world where so many starve or work themselves to the bone just to get by. 

I should have stopped with the fantasy of sleeping on a chocolate cake instead of imagining it into reality. Or into our reality. Cake beds belong in fantasy worlds. Places where fairies flit through treetops while misunderstood ogres stomp the wooded paths below.

I like to imagine friendly ogres. The kind that would bake a chocolate cake bed for their visiting fairy friend. Yes, conflict may be key in a good story, but why add conflict to a beautiful fantasy world. Don’t we have enough of that in reality?

Ah, my alarm agrees. Yet it is considerate enough to ring with that slow rise in volume. Gradually rousing me from sleep, which would be appreciated if I were still asleep, instead of lying in bed thinking about sleeping on chocolate cake.

If I had gotten up when my alarm sounded, I would have had plenty of time to take a shower, eat a healthy breakfast, and choose my clothes with care. But why do that when turning off the alarm on my phone puts the whole of the internet in the palm of my hand? 

By the time I finished scrolling, puzzling, and texting away my early morning, there was just enough time to wash and dress and fly through the house grabbing my bag and a protein bar on my way to the car. 

A detour through the office break room made me the last to arrive at the staff meeting, but I was there on time. Nine o’clock on the dot. The rest of my team was talking about some kind of sports game when I came in, so I hadn’t missed a thing. 

They talked about sports a lot. And politics. And weather. And grown-up things. I wonder what they would say if I asked them to pick a giant dessert to sleep on. 

Diane is very fancy, always dressed to the nines with every strand of hair perfectly pinned in place. I can imagine her elegantly draped on a bed of tiramisu. Jean is more down to earth, often telling stories of hiking nearby trails. She would want something simple. Maybe a tray of chocolate-chip cookie bars for her. 

I was picturing various types of pies and trying to match them to my coworkers when Sheila asked me a direct question. Luckily the question had enough information to be answered without context. If she’d asked something like, “What do you think of that, Sara?” I would have been in trouble. But she hadn’t. 

She had asked, “Have you finished the budget proposal for the Thomas account yet, Sara?” So, I could confidently say, “Yes, I just want to double check a couple of numbers and I can send it out before lunch.”

Sheila thanked me and I silently thanked her. She didn’t have to be so precise in the wording of her questions. She could have said, “Have you finished it, Sara?” And then I’d have had to flounder around, showing I hadn’t been listening. But that wasn’t Sheila’s style. 

I’m not sure if Sheila is precise like that because she knows my mind is likely wandering or if she just really, really cares about being understood. I think it’s the latter since she speaks that way with everyone, and I suspect most of my team is pretty good about paying attention and not thinking about what desserts would make good beds for their coworkers. 

Apple pie. Sheila could sleep on a warm apple pie with a flaky crust. The kind with those big chunks of fancy sugar sprinkled across the top. Because apple pie never lets you down. Though it might not make the most comfortable bed. 

Apple spice cake. The memory of my grandma’s apple spice cake came up so suddenly that I could taste it. Soft and slightly crumbly. Sweet with a cinnamon kick. Bits of apples baked in. Playing at the small park near her house. Scraping my knee and having Grandma hug away the pain before cleaning me up and giving me a warm square of apple spice cake. 

I coughed loudly to cover the tears in my eyes, dramatically choking on nothing as I reached for my water bottle and waved away everyone’s worries. “Just a tickle in my throat,” I croaked, maybe laying it on a little thick as I wiped my eyes. Then I laughed to soften the moment, and everyone agreed that a tickle in the throat is the worst. And then they got back to the Thomas account.

I decided to pay attention for a while, sending thoughts of cakes and pies and fantasy beds to another part of my mind. It was good to make the effort, I told myself. To be a good employee. To stay on top of my work and be informed. 

My notepad was blank, so I began jotting down what everyone was saying. Not word for word, of course, but snippets. I’d likely never look at these notes again, but it gave me something to do. A way to stay focused on what everyone was saying.

There was a big analog clock on the wall. The second hand moved in a graceful sweep, and I wanted to stare at it long enough to see the minute hand move as well. I let my face relax into a thoughtful expression, as if staring into space to better listen while Jean went on about the client’s requirements. 

And I was listening to her, mostly. I could listen and watch for the minute hand to move. Except I became so aware of my face and whether anyone was watching me that I couldn’t keep it up. My eyes darted back to Jean, and I nodded in agreement. Yes, it was reasonable that the client wanted a monthly meeting. And when I looked back at the clock, the minute hand had moved two minutes, which seemed too far for the short time I had looked away. 

But those two minutes were two minutes closer to the end of the meeting, so I wasn’t that disappointed in missing the sight of them passing by.  

Sometimes, I have a lot to say in staff meetings. Other times, like today, my part isn’t the focus. It’s easier to drift off then. To think about other things, like sleeping on a chocolate cake. Would it have fondant sheets? No, that would be silly and not comfortable at all. Regular sheets. Not silk, but high-count cotton. Or maybe fleece in the winter. 

“Do you have any other updates, Sara?”

I was jotting down the last thing Jean had said when I heard my name in Sheila’s question. Did I have updates? 

I flipped a page in my notepad and ran through the list of things I’d been working on. As I talked, I noticed Diane examining her manicure and Jean doodling in the margin of her notes. Kent was nodding while staring out the window. Marty was tapping his pen against the side of his other hand. Only Sheila was watching me intently. 

When I finished, Sheila clapped her hands and said that should do it. Unless there was anything else, we were done. As we gathered our coffee cups and notepads, I asked Jean if she wanted to hit the coffee cart with me. 

“You already have coffee,” she pointed out. 

And I agreed, saying, “Yeah, but I could really use a piece of cake.” 

“It’s 9:30 in the morning,” Diane chimed in, and I shrugged. 

“Is there a rule about cake for breakfast?”

She shrugged and shook her head before breezing out of the room. 

“Definitely tiramisu.”

“What?” 

Jean’s question told me I’d spoken out loud, so I laughed and said, “I’ll tell you over coffee.” 

The End

Thanks for taking a story break with me today. This was a loose one, rambling through thoughts the way many of us likely have in meetings.  If you enjoy Freely Written, please share your favorite stories with your friends. You can also learn about my novels and other projects at my website, SusanQuilty.com. 

Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you. 

[Light piano music]