Nothing could beat a baked good. From cookies to cakes, there’s nothing better on a bad day to have then a mouth full of delicious food. It’s been my lifelong dream to make the perfect cookie!
At least, that’s what grandmama always told me. My family was always different from others, we didn’t act like our neighbours. The reason was obvious to me, we ate human meat. I use the term ‘me’ loosely, after the age of 7, I never touched it again. That didn’t stop me from becoming desensitized to death though. It is inevitable, after all. Mom and dad told me that they deserved it, that other humans were bumbling bodies with no purpose. They could give them a purpose. Bribing the police (a large benefit from living in a smaller village) meant they were safe from most consequences and could get away with a lot.
I couldn’t be like them; I wasn’t like them. As soon as I turned 16, I ran away. No more would I be confined by their murderous behaviour. Still, I had to make a living, now that I lacked the financial support of my family. I decided to follow my dream, to open a bakery and give happiness back to humanity where my family took it away! But to make up for my parents horrific actions, it had to be spectacular. It had to be perfect.
I’ve tried every ingredient: sage, mint, paprika, chocolate and caramel. You name it, I’ve tried it. However, it was never good enough. It needed to be better. The best. It never was. In my desperation for a new palette, I got creative. Trying unconventional items like glue and glitter yet it was never good enough. I had to go further. there had to be something I’m forgetting; something I’m missing. What could it be?
After weeks of trial and error, I found it. Eyes. The succulent sweetness it added to the batter, with a hint a saltiness that balanced it out. Even the texture was sublime, a gooey taste that stuck to the tongue. It started when I payed a visit to my grandmama again, her cookies where always the best so she had to have a recipe edited to perfection. The result was less than desirable but after months of failure, I was desperate. She let me use a pair of eyes she had in her own storage and I was shocked. It was perfect.
Everyone at my bakery loved it, people would come back for more. There was something addicting about eyes, one taste was never enough. The demand increases for both the cookies and, in turn, the blood. Removing my own eyes was not practical, I needed them when baking. My family refused to give me anymore unless I ate them myself, so I had to find another source
My first bet was animal eyes. Perhaps sheep eyes would have the same properties as human? Alas, it didn’t work. It was just wrong. Instead of gooey, it was damp and way to salty. It wasn’t perfect. So, I went o plan B. The first time was terrifying. I had almost forgot the will it took to end a life, to look at their face scrunched up in pain as the life drained from their body and dropped to the floor. The way they would scream and beg for their life with a hopelessness seeping in their voice. Blood would pour from wounds and cover clothes with stains almost impossible to clean off. Nevertheless, I did the deed. By far, the hardest part was removing said eyes. Purely pulling them out was messy and taking the whole head makes it difficult to move from place to place without unwanted attention.
Then I ran out, a pair of eyes could only lats two batches, so I had to go out ‘shopping’ again. My second victim was different… special. They were a young man, who could not be any older than 25 with bushy brown hair. In their sleep, they looked peaceful and in an angelic trance. Everything about them radiated perfection and it was irresistible. I woke him up, I had to see his eyes with their life inside them. Once awake, he made his move to scream but my hand over his mouth prevented him from doing so. His eyes looked up to me, the auburn eyes with amber flickers glancing at me with fear ever present. H e tried begging with me through eye contact, but nothing could keep me from baking this batch of cookies… they’d be my best yet! This time, I tried ice-cream scoopers. Still not ideal, but good enough. Even removed from his head, they were beautiful. Don’t get me wrong, he was still alive, I would never take a life like my parents did. It was a fair bargain; many people gain joy just for the cost of one case of blindness.
My cookies became perfect, everyone who left commenting on how they felt happier and refreshed. I guess the eye really is the holder of the soul.