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The Harvest

November 4, 2014

The first time you hear their screams is always the hardest. It hurts your soul deep inside where no one else can see it, leaving scar tissue behind. It begins when you are an Apprentice, only fourteen years old and have just taken your draught of Dragon’s Blood, so thick, dark black and vile tasting, which lets you hear the voices of all the plants and all the animals. It’s the first time your Master directs you to perform the deed. You will always remember the way they begged and pled for mercy and their lives. How they squirmed and twisted in the hard grasp of your hands as you raised the razor-edged silver athame, claiming them. The days elapse and you become inured to it. Months turn into years and you begin to take a dark, twisted pleasure in their sacrifice. You turn into a fiend.

You anticipate the ocassion, waiting impatiently. You plot and plan from the end of one season to the beginning of another. You ruthlessly weed out the weak and inferior, picking out your Chosen, taking only the biggest, the best, and the brightest. You turn it into a ritual. You take pride in the precsion of each stab and every slice, expressing your individuality, your style, your artistry. You experiment with spices, adding a pinch of cinnamon, a dash of ginger, a sprinkle of nutmeg ,or a smidgeon of ground cloves. You make it into a competition. How many can you complete in an hour, a day, or a week? How exotic, bizzare, or extreme can you make them? You study and practice relentlessly, seeking to become first better, then best, and finally infamous. It consumes your being, driving your every thought, action, and mood. It is your be all and end all. Until all that exist is the Harvest. That’s the big downside to being a Cooking Wizard, when it comes time to reap your living pumpkinpatch, carve out your Jack’O Lanterns and make your holiday pies.


333 Words in response to Finish That Thought #2-18, Special Challenge: Include at lease THREE spices.

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