The talking jug stopped huffing. Maybe it's because the stove cut slack on the heat. They were quite a couple. The spoon enjoyed this whole scene unfolding in the kitchen. He was lying next to his beloved plate. The plate was dreading when the damn spoon will start pillaging her beloved pancakes. The pancakes were enjoying their honey bath. The table and his chairs hated this whole set up. They came from a mighty Oak deep in the woods. So they refused to talk to anyone. The man of the house meanwhile doused the stove, manhandled the kettle, held her upside down till all her contents drained off. He then sat on the table, kicked aside a chair, grabbed the spoon and devoured the terrified pancakes who dripped honey all over the plate like a wounded beast.
He couldn't keep count of the days or nights as he was always surrounded by darkness. No he wasn't blind nor did someone blindfold him. He fell in to a deep dark hole that's all. He was rushing to catch the last train home. Since it was getting late he decided to take the shortcut. Before he fell, all that he saw was a lamppost by the tracks. The impact of the fall switched off the lights in his brain. When he recovered, it was dark. He tried to feel his way around. But to his surprise all that he could feel was the darkness around him. It was as if he was encased in a thick gooey dark liquid. It held him tight. It moved with his movements. It felt as if he was part of the liquid. He floated in it. He never felt hungry or cold. In fact he felt comfortable. For the first time, he felt safe. Slowly he began to forget what he was and whom he knew. In this darkness, it was impossible to wrack his brain. Everything was slowly getting shrouded in darkness. Until that day when he ...
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