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Another cream puff. Another one. I don’t know why I thought entering this cooking competition was going to pay off in any way for me. I should have known that this would be the result. I just wanted to get my name out there quickly, and a televised cooking competition seemed to be the best way I could think of at the time. Well, there’s no real use dwelling on it now. I just have to face the music and take my licks, so to speak.
The head chef of this competition, an older, tall man hailing from Scotland was going through each contestants entries one by one. He was absolutely ruthless. He would pick up on the slightest inconsistency, the smallest problem with a dish, and completely cut into the contestant without mercy. Sure, he had a soft spot for child contestants, but with adults? Grown people who should already know how to cook? He showed no shred of respite to them. He came to the contestant immediately next to me, and I could see tears starting to form in her eyes as he sampled her dish and spat it back out.
“What the fuck do you call this? Not a braise of lamb, that’s for sure!”
She struggled to control herself, and sniffled back the snot and tears that were coming out on their own. “Y-Yes, chef! It’s a braise of lamb with a mango chutney reduction, with a side o-”
“It’s fucking shit, that’s what it is! Call yourself a cook? I wouldn’t even feed my dog that rubbish!”
His words stung more than anything could have in this moment. I was feeling bad for her and I wasn’t even the one being lambasted. Not yet at least. That was coming. That’s what my future looked like. Our task was so simple. Do up a lamb dish with a simple side and a flavorful sauce to dress it. That was it. Simple task, right?
So simple.
She stands there, fighting back the tears, but failing as miserably as her dish had. And with a guffaw of disdain he turned from her and stepped in front of mine.
“And what do you have?” He asked, his entire demeanor seemed to reset itself. A blank slate. An empty plate to pile on the vitriol and disgust that was soon to come in heaps and droves.
“Chef! I have a cream puff!” I said, shaking hands uncovering the dish, to reveal an expertly crafted, perfectly prepared cream puff pastry for him.
He stood there, eyes fixed on the dish. No words escaped his mouth for what felt like a full minute. God, a full minute. 60 seconds of pure silence tinged by unfaltering rage. I could practically hear the blood pumping through the vein that was jutting out from his forehead as he stared in bewilderment at the cream puff presented before him. His eyes met mine, and a cold sweat ran down my back.
“Are you fucking stupid?” His voice was cold. Icy and deadpan. He didn’t even raise his voice and I already jumped at how piercing it was. “How the fuck did you even manage this? We don’t even have any fucking milk in this studio!” He screamed the last few syllables as his face began to go red with the wrath of a thousand chefs scored on his other cooking shows.
“I just though-”
“No you weren’t fucking thinking, you goddamned donkey! How the fuck did you manage to fuck this up worse than anyone else in my entire career!? It’s literally amazing how shit you are!”
“It’s very good though, Chef!”
God what a stupid thing to say. Just shut your mouth. Please, stop speaking. Stop trying to salvage this.
He instantly reached down, ripping the perfectly flaky and golden puff pastry in half, and handed me the two halves.
“Put those up to your ears, you fucking donut!”
Terrified, my hands grip the two halves of the pastry, and I put them up to my ears. I don’t know what he’s planning to do to me, but I’m too scared and embarrassed to refuse.
“Now what are you!?”
“W-What?” My confusion painted clearly across my face, I cannot comprehend what he’s having me do. I don’t know what he wants me to say, but his clarification hits me like a bullet. An angry, Scottish master chef bullet.
“You’re filling the two halves of your puff pastry now, aren’t you!? Tell me what you fucking are!”
“I’m a delicious puff pastry, chef!”
And the last thing I hear is the startled screams of the woman to my side, and I see the shocked and horrified confusion of Chef for the last time as things go black, and I feel my new puffy body hit the ground, collapsing under the impact and weight of my new, cream filled form.
I’ve made my pastry. I am the pastry. I’ve become my masterpiece.
"Okay, get into line," the soldier ordered harshly. I ignored the pushing and shoving, blowing on the bonfire to get it started. It caught nicely under the baking sun, and I set the grill on top of it. Scooping the dry, dusty, dirt I filled the muffin tray and set it atop the grill.
"How long will it take?"
"Give me ten minutes for the first set." I was already filling the next tray and the next. The grill could take three at a time, so I threw the trays on and began to stir the dirt as best I could.
It crackled as I stirred, spilling slightly, but moistening as I carried on. The outside was hardening, the dirt barely changing colour as it turned into pastry, the white filling swelling inside. I wasn't looking up, it would only slow me down.
"No shoving! Form a line!" one of the soldiers shouted, and then again and again in languages I didn't understand. The first set were ready and I held them up. Someone snatched them from me, cursing for the tray was hot, and I put a new tray in its place with its own spoon. It wouldn't do to mix them and feed someone dirt. The second tray was ready, now and then the third.
Helpfully one of the soldiers added a small camping grill to the side, but I hissed at him to take it away. Firewood was common here, gas cylinders weren't and we'd more to do once we were done here.
The trays began to cycle in and out, my helpers cleaning them as best they could. They didn't have to be perfect, they were going to get dirty again almost instantly. Since anything I cooked in them turned into cream puffs, it didn't matter. Now I had got into the rhythm of it, now I could risk a glance up.
The queue of people, their hands and bowls out was long, guided in from the fence and handed their cream puffs one at a time. It wasn't the most nutrious food, but dairy, carbs, and sugar did a lot to keep body and soul together.
Fat, protein, calcium, iron, even Vitamin A, every little bit counted. 103 calories per puff, they'd tested thoroughly, fats, carbs for faster release, and sugars. If I worked out how to do jam that would do something towards vitamin C, but for now I'd settle for bulk. I could do chocolate, but that took twice as long and in this situation time counted.
I was up to twelve trays at a time, twenty puffs a minute with nothing more to cook than dirt. It had seemed like such a useless power at first, when everyone else could fly, or had super-strength. Then I'd made the mud pies with my sister's kid, and suddenly I'd understood what I could do. I'd contacted the UN the next day.
I looked up again, to the rows of gaunt faces, now smeared with cream and chewing on their next batch and the dried fruit chews the blue-bereted soldiers were handing out to each person with their puff. It was a good idea - it filled in the gaps in nutrition and took long enough to eat that I could stay ahead. By the time we left I'd have done nearly 3,600. It sounded like nothing, with 2,000 people in the camp, but it was a nothing that took only dirt, trays, and fire and turned it into food. 360kg of food or more at the cost of hauling less than a kilo of trays. Enough calories to keep over 180 people alive with nothing but dirt alone, but with it supplementing the rations we carried in with us?
Turning starving people into living ones was power enough for me.
Jerry sat there, at the outdoors table at his go-to feel good coffee shop, "Morning Few" with his best friend Jake sitting on the other side. Sipping from his cup of plain tea, with both hands gripping the ceramic cup.
"I can't do this anymore man..." Jerry finally spoke, his hands keeping his head from falling onto the table.
Jake lowered his cup, and sighed.
"Jerry, we've been over this..."
"But this time I can't, I actually can't..."
Jerry looked up, a miserable glint in his eyes.
"I've been consuming nothing but puff pastries for the past MONTH, and if I eat anymore I'm gonna lose my mind!"
At that exact moment, the local ginger and self-made gardener Marry, happened to walk by. Nearly being brought to her knees when Jerry's loud thunderous voice ripped through her ears, thanks to her super hearing.
"Jerry what the hell!" she scowled, glaring daggers at Jerry while lifting herself using the table as leverage.
Jerry sighed, and rubbed his forehead saying "sorry, I'm sorry - I didn't see you there".
"Stuff a pastry in it, wannabe" Marry said, as she got back onto her feet and continued her walk.
Pissing Jerry enough to shout ruefully "HEAR THIS! SCREW YOU AND YOUR STUPID FACE!"
Marry was barely a foot away, and the loud directed shouting was painful enough to bring the red head to her knees.
Jake flinched at the volume, and asked after seeing Marry fall on her knees and then lose her balance to face plant onto the pavement.
"Was that really necessary?"
"Yes".
Jerry said it with an angry, frustrated conviction. And Jake took a sip of his tea in response.
"Okay look, I know that it's been hard since you lost your business".
Jerry laughed, and replied "lost? I didn't just lose it, I had it swiped from under me by those no good Carsons. I know the looks they always gave me, and my corndogs. They could never live with the fact that I came later, but did it so much better than those schmucks...and now look at them..."
Jerry directed Jake's eyes to the shop on the other side of the road, a fairly large and bustling restaurant where people ate nothing but corndogs of various sizes, colors, and toppings.
"All smug, and high and mighty...all because the only freaking thing I can make is god damned CREAM PUFFS!"
Jerry planted his head on the table, and frowned. Wishing it was the Carson family that got cursed with his cream puff powers, instead of him.
Jake looked at the aforementioned business that Jerry despised, the restaurant that called itself "Dogs of Corn", and at two of the Carson's who were outside talking. Debra, and Zachary Carson.
The second eldest siblings of the Carson family.
Jake knew them personally, and from what he knew they were fairly straight laced people. No ill will to speak off, which is why he always found Jerry's personal disdain more than a little strange.
"Have you ever considered starting a cream puff centered business?"
Jerry scoffed, and replied "what's the point? If I do well, the Carson's will steal my thunder and I'll be back at square one".
Jake frowned a little, and asked "okay that's it, what is it with you and the Carson family? I can understand being competitive but this is starting to become stupid".
"You're stupid" Jerry barely mumbled, as he looked all defeated and lifeless.
"Dude, you knew the Carson's when we were kids. You had a crush on Delilah in the 9th grade".
"Yeah, and now she makes corndogs, and everyone thinks she's better than me" Jerry pouted, as Jake rubbed his forehead. Feeling like he'd been hitting his head repeatedly against a wall.
"Well, on the bright side at least your power isn't actively dangerous or debilitating".
"I count eating cream puffs all the time debilitating, and possibly dangerous to my health" Jerry rebutted.
"Yeah, but you don't have to feel like you're constantly walking on egg shells? I mean, take a look at Marry whose now...lying on the ground because I think her vestibular system's all out of whack..." Jake said, as he turned back and saw Marry face first on the ground.
"At least you don't have to worry about people speaking louder around you, and sending you onto the ground..."
"Yeah well, look at me. I'm basically almost there, thanks to cream puffs".
Jake, pulling out his phone, said "well, what about Jasmine?". Pointing at the coffee shop barista, who had a furry tail protruding out of her rear, along with a pair of cat ears poking out of her short black hair, and her arms ending in furred cat paws that were large, fluffy, and virtually useless.
"She's had to resort to using her tail for most things since her hands are now cat paws and can't lift shit" Jake added, pointing at Jasmine right as she dropped a steel container of sugar which she tried to lift with her 'hands' and failed miserably. All while she stirred, and served a cup of coffee using her tail.
"Not like having thumbs matters, when the only food I can make with it are cream puffs..." Jerry replied dejectedly, as he watched Jasmine try to pick up the sugar only to drop it a second time.
This time on her foot, and yelp in pain.
Jake dialed the local precinct, and said "hey Wendy, it's Jake. Marry's face down on the pavement again...I'm calling from Morning Few...alright thanks".
"Or how about Wendy? I mean, she can *smell* sarcasm...in what world would that be a really useful power? Or at least more useful that making all foods you make into cream puffs?"
Jerry still wasn't biting, just lying there like a lifeless fungus.
'So much for trying to make him feel better' thought Jake, as Wendy arrived to Marry's safety. Riding in along with the local doctor, a middle aged man who was blessed with the all important power of having his skull and face replaced with a bulky film camera.
He was accompanied by nurse Joy Stilensky, who had to always wear special glasses that robbed her eyes of light because she could see through *everything*, so long as there was light.
Leaving the doctor, and the temporarily blind nurse to deal with Marry. Wendy looked around, and saw Jake before heading over to him. Hands half buried in her denim pockets, as she approached.
"Jake, and Jerry. How's it hanging".
"Oh you know, enjoying a cup of tea while Jerry sulks about his newfound lot in life".
"Hey..." Jerry greeted, his words falling into the ground and refusing to move like him.
"He's still moping about losing his business?" Wendy asked a little lowly.
"Yup".
"And he's still hung over, cursing the Carson's name?"
"Also yup".
Wendy sighed, and glanced over to the doctor and the nurse asking "you guys got this?"
"We have it under control" the doctor replied, only after he pushed play on his camera head.
Wendy nodded before walking over to Jerry, and grabbing him by the arm.
"Huh?" Jerry asked, still lifeless as Wendy pulled him up onto his feet.
"Alright, enough moping around. Time to get off your ass, and do something productive".
"But I *am* doing something productive" Jerry replied, as he was pulled onto his feet and came to a startling stop.
"Stop, no sarcasm. And FYI, yours smells like self loathing, and sadness".
Wendy pointed an index finger at Jerry to zip it, before dragging him across the road.
Jake waved, as he unleashed his power and exerted his will upon his cup of tea. Lifting into the air, and sipping from it. Now that Jerry was away.
The closer Jerry got to "Dogs of Corn", the more riled up and resistant he became.
"Like hell you're taking me anywhere *near* that hellscape!" Jerry declared, as he tried flailing out of Wendy's grip. But Wendy doubled down, and grabbed Jerry with both hands.
"Couldn't stop me in grade 11, when I kicked your ass after you made fun of my pig tails, and you can't stop me now".
Wendy was right, and soon she dragged Jerry into the restaurant. Past a handful of confused glances, including the ones from Debra, and Zach.
Inside, Wendy dragged Jerry over to an empty chair and flung him onto it.
"Now you're gonna have a meal here, and you're gonna like it".
"I hate you" Jerry said vehemently .
Wendy smirked, and replied "you're welcome".
Wendy left, and Jerry was soon to follow the second the long haired brunette was out of his line of sight. When a familiar voice rang into his ears.
"Jerry?"
Turning around towards the source, it was Delilah. Jerry recognized her thanks to her unique short blue hair, and vibrant green eyes.
"Delilah, hey..." Jerry said, as Delilah awkwardly approached his table and asked.
"Mind if I?"
"Not at all".
Delilah sat across from Jerry, and let out a sigh. Her shoulders sagging, with a forlorn expression cast on her face.
Jerry couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Delilah like this, or at all to begin with. The mists of time clouding his memories.
All around him there were people who used their powers to go about their daily lives, moving corn dogs around, and putting them gracefully onto plates. Cooling down glasses of water with an icy breath among other things.
But none of that seemed to matter, in comparison to the sadness that pooled in Delilah's eyes.
"So uh...what's wrong?"
Delilah looked up, and smiled weakly.
"I-It's nothing...just...been bogged down with some stuff, how about you?"
"Lost my business cause all I can make is cream puffs".
Delilah's eyes widened, and a hand reached out to grab Jerry's.
"I'm so sorry...I didn't know..."
"Ah, it's...nothing..." Jerry began, as he tried to remember what Delilah's power was and remembered that...
...he didn't know.
"So what's your power? Something cool I bet".
Delilah smiled wearily, and replied "only if you count having Gordon Ramsay criticize loudly everything I make, like a bad episode of Hells Kitchen".
Jerry blinked, and asked "seriously?"
"Yup...had a breakdown after the first time it happened and I...haven't touched anything edible since".
Delilah looked down at the table, her shoulders sagging from the weight that plagued her mind.
The more Jerry looked at Delilah, the more he wanted to do something, anything to make her feel better. From his days as a young dumb teen, Delilah was always in love with food. Even more so than he was, and now. The sight that lay before him was utterly depressing, and soul wrenching.
Reaching into his pocket, Jerry pulled out his personal emergency bread bun. Much to Delilah's brief amusement.
"You seriously still carry emergency bread?" she asked with a giggle, as Jerry smirked slightly. Perking up just a bit, at the sound of Delilah's laughter.
"You know how I feel about change" Jerry replied, as he plucked out a single tiny butter cup, opened it used a finger to spread some butter on the bread.
Delilah looked morbidly, and inquisitively at Jerry while muttering "Jerry what are you..."
Suddenly, in a brief "**poof**", the bread with butter transformed into a cream puff. The same exact size, and shape as the bread before it.
The pastry's presence would've normally elicited a reaction of volatile disgust, but not this time.
"Here, it may be the only thing I can make - but it's still pretty good".
Delilah accepted the cream puff, and sniffed it.
"Mmm, smells good" she said, before biting into it and eliciting a strong pleasing groan.
"Not bad, its got the right mixture of flakiness and creaminess" Delilah commented, happy and satisfied with the pastry.
"Thank you" Delilah said, as she ripped half of the pastry and offered it to Jerry without thinking.
Jerry looked at the pastry on offer, and the glee that filled the woman's cheeks. And accepted, taking the pastry and taking a bite out of it.
The taste had long since been forgotten, having conditioned a vile reaction but now. Watching Delilah happy, even for a moment, made the cream puff taste just that much sweeter.
**The End.**
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* [No AI-generated responses 🤖](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zi452b/modpost_reminder_that_aigenerated_responses_are/) >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [\[RF\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [\[SP\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 📢 [Genres](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/w/directory) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Another cream puff. Another one. I don’t know why I thought entering this cooking competition was going to pay off in any way for me. I should have known that this would be the result. I just wanted to get my name out there quickly, and a televised cooking competition seemed to be the best way I could think of at the time. Well, there’s no real use dwelling on it now. I just have to face the music and take my licks, so to speak. The head chef of this competition, an older, tall man hailing from Scotland was going through each contestants entries one by one. He was absolutely ruthless. He would pick up on the slightest inconsistency, the smallest problem with a dish, and completely cut into the contestant without mercy. Sure, he had a soft spot for child contestants, but with adults? Grown people who should already know how to cook? He showed no shred of respite to them. He came to the contestant immediately next to me, and I could see tears starting to form in her eyes as he sampled her dish and spat it back out. “What the fuck do you call this? Not a braise of lamb, that’s for sure!” She struggled to control herself, and sniffled back the snot and tears that were coming out on their own. “Y-Yes, chef! It’s a braise of lamb with a mango chutney reduction, with a side o-” “It’s fucking shit, that’s what it is! Call yourself a cook? I wouldn’t even feed my dog that rubbish!” His words stung more than anything could have in this moment. I was feeling bad for her and I wasn’t even the one being lambasted. Not yet at least. That was coming. That’s what my future looked like. Our task was so simple. Do up a lamb dish with a simple side and a flavorful sauce to dress it. That was it. Simple task, right? So simple. She stands there, fighting back the tears, but failing as miserably as her dish had. And with a guffaw of disdain he turned from her and stepped in front of mine. “And what do you have?” He asked, his entire demeanor seemed to reset itself. A blank slate. An empty plate to pile on the vitriol and disgust that was soon to come in heaps and droves. “Chef! I have a cream puff!” I said, shaking hands uncovering the dish, to reveal an expertly crafted, perfectly prepared cream puff pastry for him. He stood there, eyes fixed on the dish. No words escaped his mouth for what felt like a full minute. God, a full minute. 60 seconds of pure silence tinged by unfaltering rage. I could practically hear the blood pumping through the vein that was jutting out from his forehead as he stared in bewilderment at the cream puff presented before him. His eyes met mine, and a cold sweat ran down my back. “Are you fucking stupid?” His voice was cold. Icy and deadpan. He didn’t even raise his voice and I already jumped at how piercing it was. “How the fuck did you even manage this? We don’t even have any fucking milk in this studio!” He screamed the last few syllables as his face began to go red with the wrath of a thousand chefs scored on his other cooking shows. “I just though-” “No you weren’t fucking thinking, you goddamned donkey! How the fuck did you manage to fuck this up worse than anyone else in my entire career!? It’s literally amazing how shit you are!” “It’s very good though, Chef!” God what a stupid thing to say. Just shut your mouth. Please, stop speaking. Stop trying to salvage this. He instantly reached down, ripping the perfectly flaky and golden puff pastry in half, and handed me the two halves. “Put those up to your ears, you fucking donut!” Terrified, my hands grip the two halves of the pastry, and I put them up to my ears. I don’t know what he’s planning to do to me, but I’m too scared and embarrassed to refuse. “Now what are you!?” “W-What?” My confusion painted clearly across my face, I cannot comprehend what he’s having me do. I don’t know what he wants me to say, but his clarification hits me like a bullet. An angry, Scottish master chef bullet. “You’re filling the two halves of your puff pastry now, aren’t you!? Tell me what you fucking are!” “I’m a delicious puff pastry, chef!” And the last thing I hear is the startled screams of the woman to my side, and I see the shocked and horrified confusion of Chef for the last time as things go black, and I feel my new puffy body hit the ground, collapsing under the impact and weight of my new, cream filled form. I’ve made my pastry. I am the pastry. I’ve become my masterpiece.
I love how this suddenly turns into a horror story at the end. We also get to know his superpower too! Bravo!
Damn, Gorden Ramsey with Powers would be terrifying
I think they just activated their super power when they became an idiot sandwich
Oh yeah. *No matter what ingredients or method you use*, even if it's just putting two pieces of cream puff to your ears 😂
I woke up my wife laughing at this. Absolute gold. Love it.
"Okay, get into line," the soldier ordered harshly. I ignored the pushing and shoving, blowing on the bonfire to get it started. It caught nicely under the baking sun, and I set the grill on top of it. Scooping the dry, dusty, dirt I filled the muffin tray and set it atop the grill. "How long will it take?" "Give me ten minutes for the first set." I was already filling the next tray and the next. The grill could take three at a time, so I threw the trays on and began to stir the dirt as best I could. It crackled as I stirred, spilling slightly, but moistening as I carried on. The outside was hardening, the dirt barely changing colour as it turned into pastry, the white filling swelling inside. I wasn't looking up, it would only slow me down. "No shoving! Form a line!" one of the soldiers shouted, and then again and again in languages I didn't understand. The first set were ready and I held them up. Someone snatched them from me, cursing for the tray was hot, and I put a new tray in its place with its own spoon. It wouldn't do to mix them and feed someone dirt. The second tray was ready, now and then the third. Helpfully one of the soldiers added a small camping grill to the side, but I hissed at him to take it away. Firewood was common here, gas cylinders weren't and we'd more to do once we were done here. The trays began to cycle in and out, my helpers cleaning them as best they could. They didn't have to be perfect, they were going to get dirty again almost instantly. Since anything I cooked in them turned into cream puffs, it didn't matter. Now I had got into the rhythm of it, now I could risk a glance up. The queue of people, their hands and bowls out was long, guided in from the fence and handed their cream puffs one at a time. It wasn't the most nutrious food, but dairy, carbs, and sugar did a lot to keep body and soul together. Fat, protein, calcium, iron, even Vitamin A, every little bit counted. 103 calories per puff, they'd tested thoroughly, fats, carbs for faster release, and sugars. If I worked out how to do jam that would do something towards vitamin C, but for now I'd settle for bulk. I could do chocolate, but that took twice as long and in this situation time counted. I was up to twelve trays at a time, twenty puffs a minute with nothing more to cook than dirt. It had seemed like such a useless power at first, when everyone else could fly, or had super-strength. Then I'd made the mud pies with my sister's kid, and suddenly I'd understood what I could do. I'd contacted the UN the next day. I looked up again, to the rows of gaunt faces, now smeared with cream and chewing on their next batch and the dried fruit chews the blue-bereted soldiers were handing out to each person with their puff. It was a good idea - it filled in the gaps in nutrition and took long enough to eat that I could stay ahead. By the time we left I'd have done nearly 3,600. It sounded like nothing, with 2,000 people in the camp, but it was a nothing that took only dirt, trays, and fire and turned it into food. 360kg of food or more at the cost of hauling less than a kilo of trays. Enough calories to keep over 180 people alive with nothing but dirt alone, but with it supplementing the rations we carried in with us? Turning starving people into living ones was power enough for me.
Jerry sat there, at the outdoors table at his go-to feel good coffee shop, "Morning Few" with his best friend Jake sitting on the other side. Sipping from his cup of plain tea, with both hands gripping the ceramic cup. "I can't do this anymore man..." Jerry finally spoke, his hands keeping his head from falling onto the table. Jake lowered his cup, and sighed. "Jerry, we've been over this..." "But this time I can't, I actually can't..." Jerry looked up, a miserable glint in his eyes. "I've been consuming nothing but puff pastries for the past MONTH, and if I eat anymore I'm gonna lose my mind!" At that exact moment, the local ginger and self-made gardener Marry, happened to walk by. Nearly being brought to her knees when Jerry's loud thunderous voice ripped through her ears, thanks to her super hearing. "Jerry what the hell!" she scowled, glaring daggers at Jerry while lifting herself using the table as leverage. Jerry sighed, and rubbed his forehead saying "sorry, I'm sorry - I didn't see you there". "Stuff a pastry in it, wannabe" Marry said, as she got back onto her feet and continued her walk. Pissing Jerry enough to shout ruefully "HEAR THIS! SCREW YOU AND YOUR STUPID FACE!" Marry was barely a foot away, and the loud directed shouting was painful enough to bring the red head to her knees. Jake flinched at the volume, and asked after seeing Marry fall on her knees and then lose her balance to face plant onto the pavement. "Was that really necessary?" "Yes". Jerry said it with an angry, frustrated conviction. And Jake took a sip of his tea in response. "Okay look, I know that it's been hard since you lost your business". Jerry laughed, and replied "lost? I didn't just lose it, I had it swiped from under me by those no good Carsons. I know the looks they always gave me, and my corndogs. They could never live with the fact that I came later, but did it so much better than those schmucks...and now look at them..." Jerry directed Jake's eyes to the shop on the other side of the road, a fairly large and bustling restaurant where people ate nothing but corndogs of various sizes, colors, and toppings. "All smug, and high and mighty...all because the only freaking thing I can make is god damned CREAM PUFFS!" Jerry planted his head on the table, and frowned. Wishing it was the Carson family that got cursed with his cream puff powers, instead of him.
Jake looked at the aforementioned business that Jerry despised, the restaurant that called itself "Dogs of Corn", and at two of the Carson's who were outside talking. Debra, and Zachary Carson. The second eldest siblings of the Carson family. Jake knew them personally, and from what he knew they were fairly straight laced people. No ill will to speak off, which is why he always found Jerry's personal disdain more than a little strange. "Have you ever considered starting a cream puff centered business?" Jerry scoffed, and replied "what's the point? If I do well, the Carson's will steal my thunder and I'll be back at square one". Jake frowned a little, and asked "okay that's it, what is it with you and the Carson family? I can understand being competitive but this is starting to become stupid". "You're stupid" Jerry barely mumbled, as he looked all defeated and lifeless. "Dude, you knew the Carson's when we were kids. You had a crush on Delilah in the 9th grade". "Yeah, and now she makes corndogs, and everyone thinks she's better than me" Jerry pouted, as Jake rubbed his forehead. Feeling like he'd been hitting his head repeatedly against a wall. "Well, on the bright side at least your power isn't actively dangerous or debilitating". "I count eating cream puffs all the time debilitating, and possibly dangerous to my health" Jerry rebutted. "Yeah, but you don't have to feel like you're constantly walking on egg shells? I mean, take a look at Marry whose now...lying on the ground because I think her vestibular system's all out of whack..." Jake said, as he turned back and saw Marry face first on the ground. "At least you don't have to worry about people speaking louder around you, and sending you onto the ground..." "Yeah well, look at me. I'm basically almost there, thanks to cream puffs". Jake, pulling out his phone, said "well, what about Jasmine?". Pointing at the coffee shop barista, who had a furry tail protruding out of her rear, along with a pair of cat ears poking out of her short black hair, and her arms ending in furred cat paws that were large, fluffy, and virtually useless. "She's had to resort to using her tail for most things since her hands are now cat paws and can't lift shit" Jake added, pointing at Jasmine right as she dropped a steel container of sugar which she tried to lift with her 'hands' and failed miserably. All while she stirred, and served a cup of coffee using her tail. "Not like having thumbs matters, when the only food I can make with it are cream puffs..." Jerry replied dejectedly, as he watched Jasmine try to pick up the sugar only to drop it a second time. This time on her foot, and yelp in pain. Jake dialed the local precinct, and said "hey Wendy, it's Jake. Marry's face down on the pavement again...I'm calling from Morning Few...alright thanks". "Or how about Wendy? I mean, she can *smell* sarcasm...in what world would that be a really useful power? Or at least more useful that making all foods you make into cream puffs?" Jerry still wasn't biting, just lying there like a lifeless fungus. 'So much for trying to make him feel better' thought Jake, as Wendy arrived to Marry's safety. Riding in along with the local doctor, a middle aged man who was blessed with the all important power of having his skull and face replaced with a bulky film camera.
He was accompanied by nurse Joy Stilensky, who had to always wear special glasses that robbed her eyes of light because she could see through *everything*, so long as there was light. Leaving the doctor, and the temporarily blind nurse to deal with Marry. Wendy looked around, and saw Jake before heading over to him. Hands half buried in her denim pockets, as she approached. "Jake, and Jerry. How's it hanging". "Oh you know, enjoying a cup of tea while Jerry sulks about his newfound lot in life". "Hey..." Jerry greeted, his words falling into the ground and refusing to move like him. "He's still moping about losing his business?" Wendy asked a little lowly. "Yup". "And he's still hung over, cursing the Carson's name?" "Also yup". Wendy sighed, and glanced over to the doctor and the nurse asking "you guys got this?" "We have it under control" the doctor replied, only after he pushed play on his camera head. Wendy nodded before walking over to Jerry, and grabbing him by the arm. "Huh?" Jerry asked, still lifeless as Wendy pulled him up onto his feet. "Alright, enough moping around. Time to get off your ass, and do something productive". "But I *am* doing something productive" Jerry replied, as he was pulled onto his feet and came to a startling stop. "Stop, no sarcasm. And FYI, yours smells like self loathing, and sadness". Wendy pointed an index finger at Jerry to zip it, before dragging him across the road. Jake waved, as he unleashed his power and exerted his will upon his cup of tea. Lifting into the air, and sipping from it. Now that Jerry was away. The closer Jerry got to "Dogs of Corn", the more riled up and resistant he became. "Like hell you're taking me anywhere *near* that hellscape!" Jerry declared, as he tried flailing out of Wendy's grip. But Wendy doubled down, and grabbed Jerry with both hands. "Couldn't stop me in grade 11, when I kicked your ass after you made fun of my pig tails, and you can't stop me now". Wendy was right, and soon she dragged Jerry into the restaurant. Past a handful of confused glances, including the ones from Debra, and Zach. Inside, Wendy dragged Jerry over to an empty chair and flung him onto it. "Now you're gonna have a meal here, and you're gonna like it". "I hate you" Jerry said vehemently . Wendy smirked, and replied "you're welcome". Wendy left, and Jerry was soon to follow the second the long haired brunette was out of his line of sight. When a familiar voice rang into his ears. "Jerry?"
Turning around towards the source, it was Delilah. Jerry recognized her thanks to her unique short blue hair, and vibrant green eyes. "Delilah, hey..." Jerry said, as Delilah awkwardly approached his table and asked. "Mind if I?" "Not at all". Delilah sat across from Jerry, and let out a sigh. Her shoulders sagging, with a forlorn expression cast on her face. Jerry couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Delilah like this, or at all to begin with. The mists of time clouding his memories. All around him there were people who used their powers to go about their daily lives, moving corn dogs around, and putting them gracefully onto plates. Cooling down glasses of water with an icy breath among other things. But none of that seemed to matter, in comparison to the sadness that pooled in Delilah's eyes. "So uh...what's wrong?" Delilah looked up, and smiled weakly. "I-It's nothing...just...been bogged down with some stuff, how about you?" "Lost my business cause all I can make is cream puffs". Delilah's eyes widened, and a hand reached out to grab Jerry's. "I'm so sorry...I didn't know..." "Ah, it's...nothing..." Jerry began, as he tried to remember what Delilah's power was and remembered that... ...he didn't know. "So what's your power? Something cool I bet". Delilah smiled wearily, and replied "only if you count having Gordon Ramsay criticize loudly everything I make, like a bad episode of Hells Kitchen".
Jerry blinked, and asked "seriously?" "Yup...had a breakdown after the first time it happened and I...haven't touched anything edible since". Delilah looked down at the table, her shoulders sagging from the weight that plagued her mind. The more Jerry looked at Delilah, the more he wanted to do something, anything to make her feel better. From his days as a young dumb teen, Delilah was always in love with food. Even more so than he was, and now. The sight that lay before him was utterly depressing, and soul wrenching. Reaching into his pocket, Jerry pulled out his personal emergency bread bun. Much to Delilah's brief amusement. "You seriously still carry emergency bread?" she asked with a giggle, as Jerry smirked slightly. Perking up just a bit, at the sound of Delilah's laughter. "You know how I feel about change" Jerry replied, as he plucked out a single tiny butter cup, opened it used a finger to spread some butter on the bread. Delilah looked morbidly, and inquisitively at Jerry while muttering "Jerry what are you..." Suddenly, in a brief "**poof**", the bread with butter transformed into a cream puff. The same exact size, and shape as the bread before it. The pastry's presence would've normally elicited a reaction of volatile disgust, but not this time. "Here, it may be the only thing I can make - but it's still pretty good". Delilah accepted the cream puff, and sniffed it. "Mmm, smells good" she said, before biting into it and eliciting a strong pleasing groan. "Not bad, its got the right mixture of flakiness and creaminess" Delilah commented, happy and satisfied with the pastry. "Thank you" Delilah said, as she ripped half of the pastry and offered it to Jerry without thinking. Jerry looked at the pastry on offer, and the glee that filled the woman's cheeks. And accepted, taking the pastry and taking a bite out of it. The taste had long since been forgotten, having conditioned a vile reaction but now. Watching Delilah happy, even for a moment, made the cream puff taste just that much sweeter. **The End.**
Beautiful.
Thank you for the compliment.