Soup for the Soul
Jandi Crocker
Frannie sits at the kitchen table with her cup of Earl Grey. She scans the headlines, thumbing through the pages, but today, nothing from the outside world can sustain her attention.
Her gaze keeps returning to the corner of the room. She’s draped a yellow blanket over the cage—out of sight, out of mind. A stupid saying if ever there was one. She knows she has to do something, but she’s not ready yet.
Frannie’s stomach rumbles. She hasn’t eaten all day. She opens the fridge and stares at the contents. I’ll make soup, she thinks. A soup for the soul.
Frannie dices the vegetables meticulously. She turns on the stove and adds a knob of butter to the pot. It resists for a moment, staying firm, steadfast, before shrinking in on itself, melting then bubbling
