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.
*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.