The Many Writings of K. A. Jones

Written for a Crowdfunding Creative Jam Prompt: Food as a portal.

Tattoos were expensive, which meant that there were those who found themselves unable to travel and trapped on the wrong world. Annabelle had, once, long ago, been one of them, until something magical had happened. It took her years to work out what it was, but thankfully the Walkers never had, so they left her alone. She tried not to think of the time she spent within one of those special jail cells they had for people they suspected might be a demon. As she’d never travelled through any of the doors, legally or illegally, it had been easy enough to prove that she wasn’t a demon, although most demons never touched one of the Walkers’ doors.

As Annabelle stirred the soup, waiting for someone to walk into the little cafe she’d set up, she found herself thinking again about the power she’d been gifted. It was something she was always thankful for, because it took her away from living an unfulfilled life, even though it had also dragged her away from the people she loved. She hadn’t seen them since the day she’d been set free by the Walkers, just for a few minutes, to say goodbye. The Walkers had agreed that if something magical had taken her to a different world then that was the world she was meant to live on, which meant she was unlikely to see her family or friends again.

It was the goodbyes that always made her think. Annabelle knew she was doing something good, but at the same time it was heart wrenchingly painful, because so many people would never be able to say goodbye. Whenever she made a meal for someone it was imbued with her power and warning everyone exactly what would happen would lead to the Walkers turning up again, asking her more questions she couldn’t answer, and she didn’t want to have to deal with that. Instead she put up signs throughout her cafe telling her customers that her food may have unexpected consequences.

During the time she’d owned the cafe Annabelle had employed others with powers that could be imbued in food. There was one girl, not much older than sixteen, whose food had allowed the eater to see their future during the time they were eating, and people had come from miles to test it out. When she’d moved on, after eating something Annabelle had made, they’d stayed in contact. It was wonderful to know that someone she’d helped was doing well, because no one else could let her know. They didn’t know it was her that had helped them.

Sighing, she turned to look at the time. Annabelle opened at midday, every day, and kept the cafe open until midnight. Occasionally she did think about taking a day off, but it was beginning to seem as though word was spreading. She didn’t quite know what the word was, and it terrified her when parents brought their children, but it was good for business. In the local area she had regulars who turned up just for a bowl of soup, so her food was appreciated as well as whatever people believed her abilities were.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.