Another 100 word storytelling, it's a few hours late, sorry about that. I just got home about an hour ago after working a double shift.
I'm going to stay up a little bit to study, but I'm going to head to bed soon.
This story is dedicated to my home: Philippines. This is a dedicated to those who have relatives in Tacloban and have yet to hear if they're safe or not.
Good night, I'll try to dream up a story and write it out before work.
Enjoy.
*picture is originally from http://www.pinterest.com/pin/173177548145233032/
11/17/2013 (Sunday)- Adobo
I smell the soy
sauce and vinegar sizzling in the hot pot before I even open the door, feel the
angry hard heavy chops of butcher knife to chicken bone, the sound of the
faucet running as water and blood mix disappearing into the drain.
I walk in putting
on my apron to help: mincing garlic, slicing up the pork, picking out bay leaves,
and whole black pepper-corn. I taste the
sauce, adjusting it a bit to take away the sour taste.
I say nothing as
I help mother cook.
I say nothing as
her tears fall into the pot.
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