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Creative writing

Darren Kitchen

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With the king’s execution orders still standing the man began to plead. “If you could spare me for just one hour, I must speak with the princess! She can clear this all up!” he shouted as the guards tied him to his dining room chair. Offering little comfort the plate of French toast sitting to his side was still unknowing of how he truly felt. While it sat alone, syrupless and incomplete, it watched as the man’s life came to an end. The bullet pierced his heart. He began to weep. With his last dieing breath he called out to the breakfast, "Forever sweet, I love you French toast!"

Moistened by his blood the toast was glazed to perfection as the red fluid of life oozed from his mouth. The toast felt regret as his corpse began to chill. It wanted so badly to cry to the heavens and proclaim its love for the man. But alas it couldn’t, for it was merely a plate of French toast.


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