💾 Archived View for zaibatsu.circumlunar.space › ~mieum › season1 › broth.txt captured on 2022-06-03 at 23:22:54.
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Broth
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Ivory ghosts ascended from the cloudy liquid as he stirred.
"You don't want too much steam, see. That's all flavor, all
the flavor's cooking out." He stirred the bones once more
before tapping the ladle against the rim of the pot and
replacing the glass lid.
The kitchen was as hazy as a prize fight, and beads of water
began running down the fogged windows. The sodium light above
the stove was the only light source in the room, dying the
steam a sunrise orange. It made him drowsy. And nostalgic. He
flipped a switch to turn on the hood, and suddenly the room
was a black vacuous space punctuated by the multi-colored
lights of appliances on standby. The fume hood wiring was one
of the many little things he had neglected to fix around the
house ever since it was just the two of them.
"Papa!" she shrieked.
"God damn thing," he muttered as he deactivated the fan
switch, reactivating the artificial dawn. He leaned over a
sink-full of undone dishes to open the window. It swung open
and banged against the side of the house. The crisp autumn
night immediately replaced the clouds as they billowed out
into the noir. His eyes followed their ascent to the crescent
moon staring at him from above the treeline.
"Nice moon out there tonight." He stared for a moment trying
to enjoy it, remembering the many moons and cold nights he had
enjoyed before. The sober silence of the evening made him feel
guilty that he was only now realizing how deep into autumn it
was.
She leaned off of her chair to peek at the moon, and saw him
pick up the slightly rusted apple he had been eating off the
counter. He nibbled the last pithy bits of flesh off the core
and tossed it out the window into slumbering laurels.
"Papa, why did you do like that?"
"Like what? How come I threw the apple out?" She nodded.
"You're s'pposed to put it in the trash can," she said
matter-of-factly.
"Well, apples are biodegradable, so it's alright. You know
what that means? Biodegradable." She didn't. "If something is
biodegradable it means that it turns into dirt."
She understood what he meant. "You know we're biodegradable
too? That's why when we die all that's left is bones. You
know, remember? You learned about that, huh? When people die
we bury them and all that's left is bones. Like Pop Pop."
She thought about skeletons for a moment, enjoying the thrill
of being slightly spooked by the idea of them just laying
there in the soil.
"Why are there only bones? Why do they do that?"
"Do what? Why are only bones left over?"
"Yeah, why don't bones biodegradable?"
"Why aren't bones biodegradable, you mean? I guess they
are... or are they? Bones are like rocks kinda, but also
kinda like trees."
"Like trees?" She errupted with laughter, and he felt guilty
again in the presence of her blithe innocence. That was his
baby. How could he be so cross with her at times? He
rationalized his sternness for a moment. Anyone in that
situation would do the same, he thought. It hadn't been easy
for them since they were on their own.
He forced a chuckle to tease himself away from his needless
worrying. "Yeah, they're like trees. But trees are
biodegradable too. That's why they're also like rocks, like a
shell. Like how snails and oysters and stuff have shells. We
have bones. They're just shells on the inside really."
His explanation sounded like an absurd game to her, setting
her off on a fit of silliness. "Bones are like...broccoli!
No...Papa, bones are, bones are like the moon! Ha ha!"
He remembered the broth on the stove. He opened the lid and
released a few more captive spirits. He turned off the burner
and filled up two large bowls with the milky liquid, setting
them aside to cool by the window. Steam rose from them in
columns, like a ceremonial tribute to the brilliant night
crescent. Perhaps they were reaching for it--returning. Or
escaping?
"Bones are like...soup!" he exclaimed, as he spun around to
grab the salt and pepper.
"Steam. Some bones are like steam." She roared with laughter
as he imagined having a gaseous skeleton. Some bones just
want to get out, maybe, he thought. Like steam in the broth.
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