2nd Place * Silvia C. Schneegans

Comments: The barely contained desperation was perfectly portrayed! I laughed until the tears rolled down my cheeks. It struck me as truly authentic. Lovely.

You´re Welcome

Are you at least a little bit ashamed? You come in here, sit down on my sofa and ask for cookies.  Then for coffee. Milk, no sugar, a sprinkle of cinnamon if possible. Freshly ground nutmeg would do if it absolutely has to be. Oh, and could I please provide a blanket – why on earth is my living-room so chilly? Once you are settled, you begin talking. Everybody knows that once you start, nothing can stop you. I don´t believe you yourself are aware of what you are saying. You breathe only when it is indispensable, but use up plenty of spit. That I can tell because it accumulates as foam in the corners of your mouth. You produce otherworldly linguistic constructions which defy the laws of punctuation. They begin with one topic, move on to several others and come to an end beyond where anyone could follow. You are merciless. You chew my brains until they’re down to the last cell, and my cookies away to the last chocolate chip. Both of them will eventually be excreted again. I retreat into the kitchen. You don´t even mind I am not in the room anymore. I can still hear you babbling as I lean against the counter. Can you overdose someone with nutmeg? At least the warmth of the blanket will keep you from following me around the house. You are going to ask for more cookies any moment. I pull a knife with an intimidating blade out of the knife block. It sparkles with promise. I instantly get scared of myself and hastily push it back into its slit. Maybe the kitchen is not such a good idea after all. Out of courtesy, I make an appearance in the living room and say “u-hum”. I don´t want you to think I am not listening. That would be rude. Another bowl of cookies? Sure. Damn it, the cookies are in the kitchen. I try not to look at the knife block. I have a large freezer in the basement, too. Please don´t also ask for ice-cream. Here you go, pecan and cranberry cookies. It will be best for both of us if I just stay in the living-room. What the heck, I can listen to you for an hour or two and then just let you go. Screw the movie I had rented out and will have to return tomorrow. There are more important things. Clinging on to the last remaining shreds of my sanity, for example. Next time you come around I shall pretend I am not at home. The last time I tried you were not to be fooled, but with practice I can improve. Some day you will buy it. It takes you another two loads of cookies, a cappuccino with Chantilly and a hot rosemary-footbath to finish your soliloquy. You finally toss back the blanket, stretch your clumsy limbs, yawn with content and head towards the door. The generous, unprotected surface of your back is tempting me witless. There is always the kitchen… Never mind. “Come back again soon” I say as I hand you your coat and watch you fade into the darkness of the evening.