dialogue.

"once i was baking a cookie. it was one of those sporadic days, when the motions of your body don't make any sense. my mother sat by, fatty limbs spread out on the glass kitchen table, sticking to the see-through thickness. i crafted the sugary body into the shape of an old man. his marshmallow cigarettes melted as i dunked him in orange juice. sopping, crumbling fingers drifted to the very bottom of the cup in liquid death. suddenly energized by it all, i added an entire army of chocolate chip men. 'nasty-tasting amalgamation,' mother whispered in her dozing daze. i didn't know she knew words. all of two suddens she woke up and saw the swirling people. baked and forgotten. and no one made it out."