‘We’ve come a long way.’
The gentleman smiled, his eyes placid, whilst the lady held his hand a little too tight. If you knew what to look for, you’d see it. But Dan didn’t.
The bakery was light and airy today, the sun over east London shining bright.
Dan took the peculiar pair in, ‘Well thank you, it means alot to have loyal customers.’
‘All of it is made here?’
‘Yes sir, a hundred loaves a day. Sourdough making me dough, you know?’ Dan chuckled at the joke he told so often.
‘How is it? Its condition.’
Dan cocked his head. ‘You’ve not tried it? Where have you come from?’
‘Far.’
‘Word of mouth, then! Marketing bods go on about branding. Just make good bread, I said. That’s all I need to do. Knead the dough!’
Dan chuckled again, quieter this time. The bakery filled, the gentrified seating creaking under expectant patrons. But the pair still stared, their smiles uncanny.
‘So a loaf? A bagel?’
‘We will take the base.’ The lady spoke, this time, for the first time.
‘Take the what?’
‘That which makes all, the start.’
‘My starter? Oh no, not for sale. Passed down for generations. It’s my most valued employee.’
‘It works for you?’
‘Well in a way, I take a bit, feed what’s left, cover it back up. She’s well looked after.’
‘It’s not a female, it is many.’
‘Yes, it makes all my loaves, you’re right. Now let me send you on your way with a loaf on the house.’
The bakery bustled, Dan flustered. The influencers, the influenced, the locals, and the tourists, all here to snatch at his creations.
Business was booming, and all it took was a little fermentation. Dan’s dad, and his dad before him, and his before that. The name above the shop, Dan & Dads, a fun take on an old idea.
Start with the starter, feed it, water it, it will grow and bubble until it’s ready to go. Dan whistled rhymes to himself to pass the time.
‘We will take the base, now.’
That was the last thing Dan remembered before waking up somewhere new.
The walls were cold, the light was sparse, but in front of him was a jar and a stained rag of a tea towel. His tea towel, the family cloth that covered the starter for years, for decades.
‘Where am I?’ Dan said to no one.
‘You must know.’ Came a voice, it sounded like the Gentleman, but also the Lady.
‘Am I dreaming?’
‘No, dreaming is peace, you created nightmares. Lift the cloth.’
Dan felt a cold sweat, his fingers shook as if they knew more than his brain. He grasped at the tea towel and underneath sat his starter, bubbling, throbbing, ready for baking to his trained eye.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘This is our civilization, this is alive. You have abducted it, forced it to reproduce, and then slaughtered it in droves, with your…loaves.’
Dan stared at the starter, it stared back, somehow it stared back. There were no eyes. How?
Then all of a sudden, the jar it was in… wasn’t, and the starter was moving towards him, coming at him. Speaking to him as if it always had.
‘Why?’ It simply asked, over and over again.
Dan snarled at it. ‘You’re not really alive.’
He heard the words he had said, the denial he had thrown at this creature.
Rather than regret, it made him angry.
‘You’re mine, I own you, I made you. I’ll do whatever I want with you.’ Screamed Dan, who came to be known as the Genocidal Baker of Earth.
By Louis Urbanowski – Inspired by the prompt: ‘Someone slowly realises that they’re actually the villain, what would the last line be?’
Stories by Louis Urbanowski 