Ketchup Cake

Jan 04, 2023

3 minutes

Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup

It’s all around you, everywhere you turn you hear them yell

Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup

You start to run, you don’t know where you’re going, all you know is that you have to go

Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup

But it’s following you, the incessant sounds, you start to pick up the pace

Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup

Something’s not right, the sounds are getting louder. You’re not running away, you’re headed towards them. You try to turn but your legs refuse to listen

Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup

And then there it is. Right in front of you. You try to look away but it’s too beautiful. Too stunning. All you can do is bask in its glor-

Ketchup

You awake

Your mind is foggy and you have no recollection of the events in your dream

You have a strong urge to get up- and you do, something is driving you forwards. You exit the bedroom and head straight for the kitchen. The cabinet is open and you start pulling out items seemingly at random. Flour. Baking Powder. Nutmeg and Ginger. Brown Sugar. A creaking sound comes from behind you. The fridge is open. The items are being pulled faster now-cream cheese, butter, eggs. And then you see it, you don’t want to grab it, but it feels important. A tear forms in your eye as you add the bottle of ketchup to the collection

Suddenly flour is everywhere as you stir and stir. “Why would one need so much butter” you think to yourself, but continue to mix everything into one collective mess.

Until there’s just one more thing to add. You squeeze and squeeze as streams of ketchup flow out

Then a momentary sense of relief. The stong tomato scents that once filled your apartment are replaced with something much sweeter as the oven bakes and bakes.

It’s time.

You reach in and pull out something red. Too red. As if the devil himself had been mixed in. And maybe he had.

Your spatula is now a paintbrush as you michaelangelically spread frosting over its entirety. As if the creation would one day hang from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. One layer after another the once red dish is now white.

Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup, Ketchup

You hear in the back of your mind. “What’s that from”, you wonder. The thought quickly leaves as you grab a knife. Slice. You slide a piece onto your plate. Fork in hand, you scoop up a chunk and slowly draw the utensil up to your mouth. As the cake lands on your tongue you close your eyes and begin to savor the taste.

But something’s wrong.

The cake.

It tastes…good.

This isn’t right. This isn’t what you deserve.

There’s nothing you can do. You can’t help yourself. You start to grumble.