Ensconced

A velvet glove cuts into red velvet, flakes of cake rolling off the side of its blade. Reflections of the world bounce off its sharp edge.

The brown bits keep rolling to the edge of the table, floating higher and lower in a sweet dance of determinism. A plate is moved beneath the raised slice, crumbs falling like white phosphorus. A small explosion rattles the plate as the cake is dropped onto it, shrapnel made from its guts go flying.

A fork comes flying in like a B-2 bomber only to cut through the remains like a deranged killer. The plate screams as the utensil rips open a glass scar.

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