The Cake is a Lie

Word count: 528

“Okay, I admit it. I did it. What now?”

“Garon, you’ve got crumbs all over your mouth. Obviously you ate it. God, you’re even wearing a napkin. Mum told us not to touch that cake until tonight. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember, Alistair.” Garon rubbed his bulged stomach. He rose from his seat. “But I’m a growing boy and I’m hungry.”

“Sure, tell that to Mum when she comes home.” Alistair checked his wristwatch.

Garon tugged Alistair’s elbow. “You’ve got to help me out, man.”

Alistair nudged Garon’s hand off. “You’re on your own.”

“Come on, are we brothers or not?” Garon wore his puppy eyes.

Alistair averted his gaze. “Uh-ah, that won’t work on me.”

As tears brimmed Garon’s eyelids, Alistair cursed. “For God’s sake, I hate you. What do you expect me to do, anyway?”

“Hold your horses. I haven’t thought that far yet.”

Alistair sighed. “If only your brain was half as big as your belly.”

“Dude, that’s not cool.” Garon rubbed his chin. “Say, why don’t we just bake the exact same cake?”

“Cooking isn’t the same as eating, you know? Have you even baked a cake before?”

Garon folded his sleeves. “Chill, bro. How hard can it be?”

The brothers gathered ingredients and started cooking.

“Hey, that’s a frying pan, not a baking pan.”

“Oh, my bad.”

“God, quit dropping so many eggshells.”

“Dude, it won't matter in the end."

“You’ve got to be crazy if you think that.”

“Ouch, the oven is too hot!”

“Use a mitten, Sherlock!"

Garon pulled the cake from the oven, fumbled it onto the carpet, picked it back up and then placed it onto the dining table. Alistair shut the door behind him, blocking the smoke from leaking through the kitchen.

“What do you reckon?” Garon removed his mitten. “The chocolate coating isn’t too shabby, right?”

Alistair cupped a hand over his nose. “That’s not chocolate. It’s ash.” He heard a car entering the garage. “Well, Mum’s back.”

Garon darted his eyes around. “We’ve got to think of something.”

Alistair shook his head. “There’s no time left.”

Tears coursed down Garon’s cheeks. “Bro, please, you’ve got to help me.”

“If I helped you, I wouldn’t really be helping.” Alistair gripped Garon’s shoulders. “What’s the point of digging a deeper hole?”

“Dude, if we keep digging maybe we’ll reach China an – “

“Shut up and let me finish. You can’t swallow every screw up like you do with food.”

Garon sobbed. “I guess you’re right.” The doorbell rang. “Oh no, she’s here.”

“Just own up and be done with it.” Alistair released his brother. “Mum isn’t going to kill you or anything.”

Garon brushed the tears off his eyelids. “Okay.” He marched for the front entrance.

Alistair nodded. “Good stuff. You’re going to apologize, right?”

“Nah, I’m going to buy some food. All that cooking’s made me hungry.”

“God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I told you, I’m a growing boy.” Garon unlocked the door. “Now, I’m going to get myself some fried chicken. There’s nothing more for me here.”