The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #42


The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #42

One Picture

One Element

One Emotion

200 Words

Bell Jars

A Coconut Cake for Easter

Inspired Devotion

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6 thoughts on “The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #42

  1. A fly thudded listlessly, against the window, trapped behind the vertical blind. Carmen leant forward, glass and coaster in hand. Caught the dozy fly and released it gently to the pavement outside. The fly sat dazed on the warm ground, as if collecting its thoughts, before stretching its wings and unsteadily buzzing away.

    Inside, Carmen blew her nose a last once and collected herself. Grandma had prided herself on being the best commercial funeral provender. Her granddaughter could only hope, Grandma would have approved of today’s.

    Cortège having departed the church, Carmen had come home to check everything. Glass cake stands with Madeira Loaf, Coconut Cake. Netted plates with sandwiches. Sideboard with whisky, sherry and soft drinks. In the kitchen, tea urn held hot water, just off the boil. Coffee and a selection of tea bags, nearby.

    The will, to be read that afternoon, promised no surprises. Her grandmother had no real money to speak of, the funeral purveys rarely paid for themselves. Carmen knew the partaking of food and drink was a great healer. A first step in the grieving process. Very often, the final bill would be inexplicably ‘lost’. The cost covered in-house as a parting gift.

  2. He’d destroyed both morning batches of hot cross buns, upset his regular customers with unrepeatable remarks about Jesus, and also kicked out a wedge from their skip’s wheels, allowing it to roll across the backyard and dent his van. This Darren had to go. If it wasn’t for the fact he was marrying his daughter.
    “I’m…I’m sorry, Dad.”
    “Dad? Dad! You ain’t my Dad yet! It’s ‘boss’ to you!”
    “I’ve…I’ve made you a cake.”
    Darren put the cake down and cut out a slice, handing it to him. Cautiously, he took a bite and spat it out.
    “What the hell is that?”
    “It’s…it’s a coconut cake for Easter.”
    “Who the hell makes a coconut cake for Easter?”
    “I do. My family does, it’s an Easter tradition.”
    “What are you trying to do, poison me? I’m allergic to coconut!”
    “What? Sorry, Dad…boss, I didn’t…”
    He stood up and grabbed his daughter’s horsewhip she’d left on the table after her last visit to the bakery.
    “What are you doing with that, Dad…boss?”
    “You know, I feel I’ve just received ‘inspired devotion’.”
    “Sorry, Dad? I mean, boss?”
    “Us El Salvadorians also have our own Easter traditions!” He chased Darren out the back.

  3. First the ears are cut away. The knife sinking in and then slicing through to the surface beneath with a screech of steel on glass. One ear separates from the head, then the other. Eager children stare in rapt attention. Teeth, bared in open mouths, drip with hunger. Eyes, never leaving the working of the knife, watch as it dissects the icon before them.

    Approaching the crystalline stand, Father Perry lifts the spatula, his eyes shine with inspired devotion to his flock. He scoops up a section of ear and turns to one of the children. She holds high her plate with careful hands and smiles. She takes her piece back to her seat at the long wooden table beneath the crucifix where Jesus hangs, bearing witness to hungry orphans.

    One by one, the children file up to Father Perry and receive their prize. Each returns to the long table and tear into their treat with the sharp tines of tarnished metal forks.

    Little Gretchen is last child in line. Looking up through dirty blond strands she asks, “May I, Father?.”

    Father Perry serves her the last piece of coconut cake.

    With glee, Gretchen squeals, “I got the bunny’s nose.”

  4. Susan stepped back from the display. It was as close to her memory of the shop as she could get. The old bench was authentic as were the scales. She had also found the original racks for brown paper. Her grandmother had baked homemade bread and cakes; her grandfather had served behind the counter.

    Her big question was, should she put candies and models of little cakes in the glass containers? Maybe even real cakes for the Grand Opening?

    “I can’t thank you enough,” the museum proprietor said, shaking Susan’s hand. “It’s a wonderful bit of local history. Everybody knew ‘Jacques’s General Store’. I well remember your grandmother’s famous coconut cake. Special for Easter.”

    After Susan had gone, he turned to his wife. “If there ever was an example of inspired devotion, this’s it; a perfect show piece. Amazing she’d do it for us.”

    “Especially given the circumstances,” she said.

    He nodded. Susan had been an out-of-control teen, sent to her grandparents because her mother couldn’t cope. She’d not lasted long. She’d robbed the old folk and run away, not to reappear until decades later.

    “She remembers loving her time here,” the proprietor said. “I’ll never understand kids. Especially teenaged girls.”

    “Don’t forget, memory can be elastic…,” she said.

  5. “Go ahead Bill, ask me again why my coconut cake ain’t as good as Granny’s” I hollered with my fists clenched. He just dumped his slice of that cake in the trash and opened a beer. That was last Easter but I got a surprise for that cantankerous fool this year. I had started cleaning out Granny’s old store and found the recipe box in the sideboard her antique cake server sat on. I was tickled and cooked up a plan to get back at wrinkly old Bill.
    He sat his big ol’ hiney down while the younguns was still huntin’ eggs and says “Well Mary, let’s see what kind o’ shame you done yer ol’ Granny this year. Smiling as purty as you please I lifted the glass lid and cut a big honkin’ chunk o’ cake. He takes a bite and the shock and awe spread over his red face. “Dang, girl’ was all he could say, while shoveling that sweet perfection into his gullet. Minutes later his face was buried in the plate, all sign o’ life gone. I was proud and a gigglin’, I’d figured one day my devotion to perfectin’ that recipe would pay off. Happy Easter Bill.


    The Inspired Devotion company has always made cakes that taste heavenly. Their specialty is Angel Food, of course, though somehow they’ve even managed to inspire a chorus of Gabriel’s finest with their take on the devil’s own chocolate cake.

    Today I was using one of their finest mixes, a coconut cake that was supposed to be light and airy enough to convert all the sinners at my Easter table. Lord knows I needed the help, as Pete had invited our next door neighbors – a bunch of proud pagans who wore pentagrams and lit bonfires nightly in their backyard.

    The bell jar that surrounded my cake was just for show. At least until Betty Sue started to grow horns during the blessing. When her eyes turned red and she started shouting “Hail Satan!” in that otherworldly voice, well, I just had to take matters into my own hands, didn’t I?

    Martha Stewart would have approved of the way I managed to slay the demon using only a glass cake topper and serving wedge, without getting a single drop of blood on my Sunday best dress.

    “Slice of cake, anyone?”

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