The cake is a lie

"There is nothing in the world that couldn't be done in three minutes." Some writer had said it. In three minutes I have to make my decision, and I am facing two choices: Either I eat the cake or I have to shoot myself. Pop! FINITO! Simple, isn’t it?

On one hand there is a cake- it glistens, saturated with oozing chocolate, a silver fork is lying right next to it. On the other- a gun.. And I can't bring myself to touch either. The time is flying leaving little room for reasoning. I hear a loud CLICK announcing the passing of thirty seconds. I gulp. My mouth is so dry I couldn't swallow a piece even if I wanted to. The hot ganache* shimmers, winking at me, making my blood boil. Oh, how I want to just smash this cake with my fists, spread it around the table, stab the pieces with my fork and rub them into mush! I can't. I can ONLY either eat it or not. CLICK 2:00

"Dammit! Ok, obviously I am not going to shoot myself, this would be ridiculous! That said, why would anyone need me to eat a cake? I loathe this cake. Unless.. The cake is a lie and either I off myself or meet my death by chocolate?”

The numbers on the stopwatch are changing swiftly, I put my hand on the fork. CLICK 1:30

"C-can I get some water?" Silence. I break off a piece and bring it to my lips. "Wait a second... How.. How did I even get here?" Myriads of events slide through my mind, days, months, years, all intertwined and disarranged. CLICK 1:00

"No, hold on a moment! Am I to eat the whole cake?.." But no one is here. Just the stopwatch, this odious cake and I. Beads of sweat are rolling down my body. My hand feels numb and the fork is shaking. I quickly eat the morsel off the fork, swallowing it before it even touches my tongue.

"Okay. Don't panic" I break off another piece, reasoning that I would have known by now if it was poisoned. "Damn it!" I dig my hands into the glossy sides of the cake, tearing off the pieces and shoving them into my mouth. CLICK :30

"Oh God!" Viscous mass doesn't wish to slide down my throat, and I swallow, I swallow as the tears are spilling out. CLICK and I notice a white corner of paper sticking out of the dough. The timer stops and I am sitting paralyzed with fear in complete silence. Under the halo of the lamp I pull out the paper and read: "POISONED"

I sweep away the crumbs and grab the gun with my slippery grip. It's a real gun! "WHAT IS THIS?" My voice is breaking, I cough, almost dropping the gun. Grabbing it with both hands I yell again "IS THIS SOME JOKE? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Closing my eyes and raising shoulders to cover my ears I shoot in the air. POP! I open my eyes and watch the square strips of confetti gently twirling down on the cake. "What is this.." I whisper and tears roll down my cheeks..

"Sir? SIR?" A concerned man is searching my face. I am in my office, behind the table and twenty eyes are staring at me expectantly. I see the tops of the buildings through the wide windows of the room, my hands are clean and instead of the fork I am holding a weighted silver pen, hovering above a contract.

"..Cake.." I utter. The men exchange bewildered glances. Someone coughs. I put the pen down, slowly get up and exit the room. I hear their confused voices behind the door:

"Did he say cake? "

"What does this mean? Is this contract is a piece of cake for your firm?"

"Mister Branson, I assure you it isn't a piece of cake for anyone.."

"What then?"

"Not a suicide" I whisper to myself, walking away



ga·nache /ɡəˈnaSH/ noun

- A whipped filling of chocolate and cream, used in desserts such as cakes and truffles.