Page 48 - North Star Literary & Art Magazine

the other, and she muddled over to it to help herself. She liked to eat when she was nervous, so she went ahead and picked up a couple snacks, trying to juggle the gift in her other hand. It looked like the guests had all brought a dish to pass. Maye she should have brought a Bundt cake.
There was much more to see, but her knee was starting to bother her. She only stopped to look at the punch fountain they had; the red-colored drink gushing out, making an awful mess on the nice white tablecloth underneath.
Once she had something to nibble on, she went back to her task trying to find the child in the sea of people.
She bumped into a man who turned around and gave her a ravenous grin.
“What a great bash. It’s about time somebody hosted a shindig in this neighborhood,” he told her.
“H-have we met?” She mumbled, but the man just started walking away.
There was a painted arbor that she could see above the countless heads, decorated with all kinds of what-have-you. She hobbled over to the place where the cake was laying out.
It was a big, red velvet cake. Probably big enough to feed an army with big slices hacked out of it.
A woman was staring at her with a plate of cake in her hand, shoveling pieces into her mouth far too fast for her to chew. It disgusted her.
“Would you believe this cake? Someone’s going to have to give me the recipe. Would you like me to cut you a slice?”
“No thank you,” she responded, turning back around to see if it would stop her head from the impending attack of dizziness.
She should go home. The dog needed to go out and she wanted to make a Bundt cake.
She could see the gift table over by the garden gate, so she walked over there and searched for a place to put her gift with the pile of others when she noticed it. That same plant. It wasn’t dying anymore.
The healthy buds were pink, and lyre shaped. She recognized the flowers. It was beyond the shadow of a doubt that the plant was a bleeding-heart bush, now in full bloom, the tiny hearts dripping like rain.
“Would you just look at that!” the woman mused. “You were right. It just needed a little time. Look at that crazy thing go.”
A loud ringing stabbed her ears and an ominous feeling coursed through her. Her lips quivered, trying to ask “So, how is the child? How is she doing? How is the murmur?”
The woman laughed in a joking tone, waving her hand around.
“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about!”
“You’ve got a wild imagination for an old coot like you,” the man poked.
She sniffed at the joke. It was hardly the time for joking, let alone tasteless joking. The man and woman just left her there and went off to start the gift opening, but
she’d had it. That was the last straw. She was taking that child to the emergency room and calling the authorities, right after she rounded the corner of the glass house—and that was exactly what she was going to do if there wasn’t some kind of disturbance building up. Big vortexes of people, shouting and dropping their plates, rushing all over. Pieces of red velvet cake and cups of red punch falling on the ground when a great shriek was wailing, making
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