THE CHRONICLES OF GIN
A Serialized Gingerbread Man Retelling for Adults
Before you read further, check out Part 1 (unless you already have, in which case, proceed).
Part 2: Out of the Oven
A couple of things happened after that ding. I heard a muffled gasp and the words, “Oh! It’s ready! I’ll be right back!” followed by heavy footfalls—each one slightly closer than the last—a loud bump, and muttered insults directed at the offending couch. The footsteps stopped right in front of me, and after a moment of near silence, a drawbridge I hadn’t known existed lowered outward, bringing a rush of cool air into my sweltering enclosure. I shut my eyes reflexively.
Distracted as I was by the abrupt temperature change, it took me a moment to process that I was being lifted—metal bed and all. Seconds later, I was dropped (not very gently) onto a new surface where I began to cool.
“Hey, buddy.”
My eyes flew open with a start.
“Hi…?” I replied cautiously.
“Damn. I was really hoping you weren’t alive,” my new friend muttered softly. “Okay, no worries. Welcome to the kitchen. I’m Papa Roach. We’ve got about five minutes to catch you up to speed before the old lady comes back with a spatula to scrape you off that baking sheet. Are you with me so far?”
“Who am I…?”
“You’re the gingerbread, man.”
“I’m The Gingerbread Man. And you’re Papa Roach. Got it.”
Papa Roach gave me an odd look but kept going.
“You just came out of that oven over there.” He gestured with a jagged limb. “It’s got a real nasty curse on it, so some of the things baked in it come out having thoughts and feelings and whatnot. I know for sure it happens to most of the cookies with faces, but I swear one time a casserole tried to talk to me.”
He paused and shuddered.
“Now, if you forget everything else I tell you, remember this: the old woman in the other room is not your friend. If she finds out you’re alive, she’ll snap your head off before she eats you. If you don’t break neatly, she’ll feed you to the farm animals. They’re not your friends, either. As soon as she scrapes you off that sheet, run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t let them catch you. You hear me, Gingerbread Man?”
He must’ve sensed my uncertainty because his tone grew more frantic.
“Promise me, buddy! I’ve been here a long time—longer than any cockroach was ever meant to live—and I’ve seen some really twisted things.” His voice cracked on a barely stifled sob. “I tried to save them. They just wouldn’t listen. But you’re different—I can tell. You’re a survivor. Like me.”
“It’s okay, I promise. I won’t forget to run.” I hesitated, then asked as gently as I could, “So… were you ever…?”
He nodded grimly. “It was an accident. I was in that oven, nibbling on some grime, when it started heating up. Roaches are survivors, but 350 degrees was too much, even for me. I died. But then I woke up next to a frog bread. We didn’t know what was going on, but we started talking. Became friends. Maybe we could’ve been more one day if that hag hadn’t served Froggy to her book club with some homemade marmalade. I made a vow that day to save as many of you unlucky bastards as I could. For Froggy. I just haven’t had much luck so far.”
“Wait, are you saying they ate Froggy?!”
“Yes! And she’ll eat you too, in a heartbeat.”
“Can’t I talk to her?” I sputtered. “I’m sure if she knew I was alive, she’d—”
“Let me stop you right there. She doesn’t care. She hopes you can’t talk, but if you can, she’ll just cut off your talking parts, and then she’ll eat you just the same. You’re a cookie and—not to make this weird or anything—you might be the best-smelling cookie I’ve ever met.”
“But I’m a person!”
Papa Roach looked at me in obvious shock, then whispered, “No. No, buddy, you’re not. You’re food. That’s all anybody will see when they look at you. Just like I’m a disgusting bug. Hell, I’m even more gross now because I’m undead. Not that anyone seems to notice that I’m way harder to kill these days.”
“But what about how we see ourselves? What about what we want?”
He sighed deeply. “I can’t answer that for you. All I know is you’ve got one real chance to survive long enough to find out for yourself. Aw, crap, she’s coming. Play dead, don’t answer if she speaks to you, and as soon as you’re not stuck down anymore—run, run, run!”
With that, he scuttled into a slightly open jar labeled Sugar, leaving me alone to face my fate.
To be continued…
So, what happens next? I’ve got a few ideas, but i mostly just wing it so anything could happen at this point. Tune in for part 3, definitely eventually 😉.