Smell story
Dec. 7th, 2004 04:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sagesariaTitle: Untitled
Category: Original
Rating: G
Genre: General
Summary: A memory of a few Christmases ago.
Status: Complete
In Creative Writing yesterday, we had to pull something with a specific smell out of a box, smell it, and write what it made us think of. I got vanilla extract, and wrote this.
My arms grow tired as I stir the constantly thickening mixture. The gradually increasing bubbling in the pot makes mer nervous. I already burned myself once last Christmas; I don't want to live it again. I dread and impatiently await the next step, going in the continuous circular motion, keeping the syrupy milk mixture from burning.
Finally, Mom tips a spoonful of thin, brown liquid into the concoction, which decides very quickly to release a loud "Tssssss!" as it turns the off-white mixture to a light brown. I gag as a hot sharp smell hits my nostrils. I want to turn my head away to keep from passing out, but Mom has already dumped hundreds of tiny chocolate chips into the pot. The bitter odor fades, replaced by the luscious aroma of melted chocolate. The stove is turns off. I stir as hard and fast as I can as the mixture gets thicker and darker, until it is finally scooped out into the flat, waxed pan.
Arms free of their labor, I happily put the tip of the fudge-covered spoon to my lips.
Category: Original
Rating: G
Genre: General
Summary: A memory of a few Christmases ago.
Status: Complete
In Creative Writing yesterday, we had to pull something with a specific smell out of a box, smell it, and write what it made us think of. I got vanilla extract, and wrote this.
My arms grow tired as I stir the constantly thickening mixture. The gradually increasing bubbling in the pot makes mer nervous. I already burned myself once last Christmas; I don't want to live it again. I dread and impatiently await the next step, going in the continuous circular motion, keeping the syrupy milk mixture from burning.
Finally, Mom tips a spoonful of thin, brown liquid into the concoction, which decides very quickly to release a loud "Tssssss!" as it turns the off-white mixture to a light brown. I gag as a hot sharp smell hits my nostrils. I want to turn my head away to keep from passing out, but Mom has already dumped hundreds of tiny chocolate chips into the pot. The bitter odor fades, replaced by the luscious aroma of melted chocolate. The stove is turns off. I stir as hard and fast as I can as the mixture gets thicker and darker, until it is finally scooped out into the flat, waxed pan.
Arms free of their labor, I happily put the tip of the fudge-covered spoon to my lips.
