Gingerbreadman style

Surprise surprise, gingerbreadman lives right down the street from me. No, he didn't get eaten up by the treacherous Wolf, nor was he gobbled up by the Angry Mob (complete with pitchforks and all). In fact, he had walked rather calmly out of the tiny cottage where he was baked on that fateful day, strolled in a leisurely manner down the river, made his way into the city, sold his winning gingerbread recipe, became a millionaire, and bought the townhouse two residences away from mine. There wasn't any running nor shouting of blue murder (in this case, gingerbread murder). Rumours and speculations was all that made up that ridiculously popular story. After all, nobody will run all over the country in plain pursue of a gingerbreadman. They sell them by the batches at the local confectionary at a dollar for three.

And it wasn't really a gingerbreadman at all. It was a gingerbreadWOMAN. Take that, you sexist English language. So from now one, it shall be she instead of he.

I invited her over for brunch on a lovely, sun-glazed morning. She is one punctual pastry. Her coloured gum-drops bottons were polished to a sheen and she was wearing a pink hat. Must keep cool, she explained, for the sun can melt some of her body parts. She settled into the arm of my most comfortable arm chair, and look expectantly at me. I bit my lower lip and was uncertain. What exactly does gingerbreadpeople eat?! Before I could hauled out everything edible I have, she assured me that they eat NOTHING at all. Instead, they simply enjoy sitting in bowls of sugar. I dutifully filled my largest bowl with a generous cup of said white stuff. She bounced gleefully into the bowl and we're set.

I urged her to tell me a story about herself, something that happened to her. Actually, she gave me two such stories. And I was her rapt audience.

Gingerbreadpeople can Love

It can get lonely when you're tiny in the wide world. Even if you do taste delicious. Human beings won't do, for they are too big and they are not made of sweet things. That is why, when she stumbled upon another lone, animate, sweetness infused thing, she fell in love immediately. He is a white (slightly dirty now) sugar cube, which had dropped out of a pinic basket some time ago. They soon became each other's truest friend in a world where everyone was made of flesh and blood. They were both afraid of water (for each is soluable to an extent), so one helped the other keep a lookout for sudden splashes. The days were filled with laughter and the joy that only true friendship can accord. That was until she decided to finally express her love for him, and gave him a great Hug. And that is when he crumbled into a thousand little grains of crystals, slowly dissolving into the morning dew.

Meticulously shaking off sugar crystals from her gingerbread body, she thanked me for an excellent brunch, put on her pink hat and walked carefully down the street. Seemingly, she only has human companionship now. After all, she can't fall in love with them. Now we know why she likes the bowls of sugar.

Inspired by dfsah.