AURORA, ON – Early this morning, tiny whimpers were heard from a gingerbread-house as a gingerbread-man pleaded with his gingerbread-God to end his suffering.
“Woe is me, that I labour each day without end. I have no purpose, no greater cause. I am a delicious husk of my former self,” the little baked good weeped, icing streaming down onto his gumdrop buttons. “End it now gingerbread-God, I dare thee! If ye know any mercy, then release me from my endless hardships!”
The gingerbread-man entered this world a mere three weeks ago, haphazardly assembled by seven-year old twins and their exhausted mother who was just trying to fill an hour between online schooling and dinner. Everyday since, he has known only abject misery.
“I have watched my gingerbread-wife snatched away and consumed in three merciless bites,” the gingerbread-man said, balling up his adorably small fists. “I’m just so angry that I keep punching the gingerbread-walls and now my house is a mess of crumbs. As if I didn’t have enough on my mind, now I’m worried about mice.”
Surprisingly, the gingerbread-man was once a devotee of the word of gingerbread-God. However, his loneliness of late coupled with the sweet’s turmoil over the state of the world has led him away from what he once considered a great source of comfort.
“This vessel of sugar, butter, and molasses becomes wearier. I grow more stale and brittle with each passing day,” he paused looking down at the licorice floor. “I can’t just keep reliving the same day, trapped inside this gingerbread-prison. It does something unnatural to a cookie.”