The lost boy loved watching her cook.
Not because he loved cooking. And not because he loved her. No, he loved watching the way she wrote the oil into the pan.
It was different each time. A new meal, a new constellation, a new language.
The lost boy wondered everything. He wondered what the language in the pan meant. He wondered how the language worked and what it did. He wondered where she’d learnt it. He wondered if he would be able to learn it too.
She didn’t look as if she would share any of her secrets. She was ignoring him as much as he was ignoring her.
He waited. Quiet, watchful.
Careful to show no sign of his interest.
This is an odd, tiny tale that was so odd, I don’t think it ever made it onto any of my social media sites. Hope you enjoy this dose of quirky.
Ree-Imagined Worlds 
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