RE: C4H10FO2P
02-04-2019, 09:21 PM
You get a sudden craving for some 'German Toast ' and some orange juice; rather 'pancakes dipped in french toast batter and prepared like french toast' and orange juice. Which is weird, considering you've never eaten french toast before. It also seems rather unhealthy but you'll let yourself slide a little today, everyone has an off day. Pushing open the white bedroom door, you're met with your hallway. It's an average hallway, with pine wooden floorboards and a few pictures of you and your mother and father hanging up on the wall. And some fake plants. You'd much rather have your house be like a giant terrarium but there is kind of a high force stopping you from doing that. You mean that literally, not like a god or something, though that would be cool.
In front of you is the bannister/stairs whilst to your left is a storage room and your right your parent's room and the bathroom. You can no longer hear the distant waves from the beach not-too-far-away. Sighing, you descend downstairs, keeping your guard up for any surprise ambushes. Which would be none, you live in a nice neighbourhood.
Downstairs is the lounge room that also has a door that most would refer to as 'the front door'. from the lounge, you can go to the kitchen or the study that are either side of each other. The lounge has brown carpet and white walls with teal flowers climbing up it. Two couches sit nearby a TV and fireplace and a rug is sprawled out across the floor. Some books are put away on the bookshelf that you had left out last night, meaning that somebody or something has cleaned up after you. You shiver at the thought.
Heading into the kitchen you realize that you don't have the right equipment to actually make the battered pancakes, but you can still make pancakes. And of course orange juice. That's always stocked. Always. Clicking on the hob, you take out a pan and some pourable pancake mixture from the cupboard. Pouring in the mixture you take a small gander at the kitchen. There are large windows that look out onto the streets and a small glimpse of the ocean not too far off. Some people look like they're playing a game of volleyball or is that netted catch? You can never tell the difference. Shuffling the mixture, you get ready to flip the pancake soon, watching it take some form of wobbly lines.
Flip!
You look back out of the window, pocket buzzing once, then again, yet you don't pay it any mind. The other side of the pancake is golden, but a little crispy in one place. Oh well, nobody's perfect. The scene outside is the same as usual-wait no. It's not. The people-no person on the beach looks like they're running away, abandoning their game. You could've sworn there were more people. The small silhouette of the ball bounces across the sand. Perhaps they were kids just being called inside?
The front door creaks open you could hear the lock clicking the moment the key was put in. You almost freeze at the hob if it wasn't for your pancakes. You really wanted these and you are going to have them. Perhaps whoever just entered your house brought some French toast batter that you could dip this in. Sure, it's too late to make this pancake the perfect 'German Toast' but it doesn't mean you can't do it to the rest.
The pancake is flipped onto a plate you had also gotten out and the hob is turned off. You'll wait and see if they have some french toast batter. Footsteps tap against the floorboard rhythmically, then stop.
"Alex, are you downstairs? I can smell burning." A voice calls out.
You don't reply, instead, taking a glass from the cupboard and putting it against the counter. Orange Juice time. Taking the carton of juice from the side, you start pouring yourself a glass when-
"Oh thank god you're alright. You couldn't have at least made a noise to let me know you were in here? It would have been very beneficial. I could have mistaken you for a burglar."
IT comes into the kitchen. And not that weird clown that everyone seems to be fawning over on the internet, as one of your friends have shown you- it's not a pretty sight, but someone who you've been entrusted into the care of for some god-forbidden reason. IT says it's your uncle but you know that it's not.
In front of you is the bannister/stairs whilst to your left is a storage room and your right your parent's room and the bathroom. You can no longer hear the distant waves from the beach not-too-far-away. Sighing, you descend downstairs, keeping your guard up for any surprise ambushes. Which would be none, you live in a nice neighbourhood.
Downstairs is the lounge room that also has a door that most would refer to as 'the front door'. from the lounge, you can go to the kitchen or the study that are either side of each other. The lounge has brown carpet and white walls with teal flowers climbing up it. Two couches sit nearby a TV and fireplace and a rug is sprawled out across the floor. Some books are put away on the bookshelf that you had left out last night, meaning that somebody or something has cleaned up after you. You shiver at the thought.
Heading into the kitchen you realize that you don't have the right equipment to actually make the battered pancakes, but you can still make pancakes. And of course orange juice. That's always stocked. Always. Clicking on the hob, you take out a pan and some pourable pancake mixture from the cupboard. Pouring in the mixture you take a small gander at the kitchen. There are large windows that look out onto the streets and a small glimpse of the ocean not too far off. Some people look like they're playing a game of volleyball or is that netted catch? You can never tell the difference. Shuffling the mixture, you get ready to flip the pancake soon, watching it take some form of wobbly lines.
Flip!
You look back out of the window, pocket buzzing once, then again, yet you don't pay it any mind. The other side of the pancake is golden, but a little crispy in one place. Oh well, nobody's perfect. The scene outside is the same as usual-wait no. It's not. The people-no person on the beach looks like they're running away, abandoning their game. You could've sworn there were more people. The small silhouette of the ball bounces across the sand. Perhaps they were kids just being called inside?
The front door creaks open you could hear the lock clicking the moment the key was put in. You almost freeze at the hob if it wasn't for your pancakes. You really wanted these and you are going to have them. Perhaps whoever just entered your house brought some French toast batter that you could dip this in. Sure, it's too late to make this pancake the perfect 'German Toast' but it doesn't mean you can't do it to the rest.
The pancake is flipped onto a plate you had also gotten out and the hob is turned off. You'll wait and see if they have some french toast batter. Footsteps tap against the floorboard rhythmically, then stop.
"Alex, are you downstairs? I can smell burning." A voice calls out.
You don't reply, instead, taking a glass from the cupboard and putting it against the counter. Orange Juice time. Taking the carton of juice from the side, you start pouring yourself a glass when-
"Oh thank god you're alright. You couldn't have at least made a noise to let me know you were in here? It would have been very beneficial. I could have mistaken you for a burglar."
IT comes into the kitchen. And not that weird clown that everyone seems to be fawning over on the internet, as one of your friends have shown you- it's not a pretty sight, but someone who you've been entrusted into the care of for some god-forbidden reason. IT says it's your uncle but you know that it's not.
Spoiler