THE BAKER

I baked him a cake, and now I watched him cut it open. The first slice always falls apart. I winced, as the pieces crumbled like a landslide. No matter how many cakes I bake, the first piece that’s cut always falls apart. The inside was cherry red. Globular, bulbous chunks leaked from the center. Like giant blood clots, bathing in buttercream. I imagined I had taken my still-beating heart from my chest and baked it into the middle. He took a bite, and grinned at mе. His teeth stained like a row of garnets. Now hе could have it, and eat it too.