“An unacceptable apology”. she anguished, “If only I could take back those foul words!” Tears of shame sizzled on the stove.
The iron cookstove went cold. The aroma of yeast evaporated. The loaf collapsed into itself making a thick putty then disassembled; sugar crystals reformed, water slipped back into the metal dipper,salt flew back into the salt cellar.
The flour funneled back into the barrel which was carried, clop-clip, backwards to the mill, rained back on the millstone which reversed with a clank and clamor, recreating perfect grains of wheat. More bread now, more time, three less words to eat.
Photo Prompt by Sandra Cook
For more about Friday Fictioneers, telling stories with 100 words or less, click: