She checked off the first line of the list. She moved her hands to make sure and touch each other item on the list, just to be sure, before checking them off. Chopped meats, her homegrown yeast, her special seasoning, pineapple, mustard seeds and (after a quick juggling through the overflowing cabinet) sugar. The last item on the list was, however, more difficult to locate. A long hectic rummage through the kitchen later she began rummaging in the living room, followed by a aggravating search through the dining room, a torrid exploration of the bathrooms, a rapid comb over the stairs, and an adequately climatic battle with the clutter in the attic.
By the time she stumbled down the stairs wit her arm full of iron, she had to check out the window just to make sure the storm hadn't gone by, like it had last time.
She was quite happy to see the black storm-heads crackling and booming overhead.
She checked off the last item on her list, quickly rinsed off the iron thin iron rod she'd brought down from the attic, and began to skewer the meat and pineapples upon it. A careful application of the other ingredients, the thick grainy, slimy yeast last to hold everything together in great gloppy globs. A quick rinse of her hands and then the long black thick rubber gloves were pulled up to the elbow with dramatic snaps with the full force of their elasticity. She grimaced at the sting, but it faded quickly.
Then she was outside in a flash of fright white sheet lightning.
The rest of the contraption from the attic took a few minutes to set up. A wide tripod base of a steel alloy of her own design, using quite a lot of iron with copper wires throughout for maximum conductivity, so that, once she attached the food laden rod, the heat would be directed just right. She placed the rod in and cranked the handy turn wheel until the top of the rod was up higher than the nearby trees. She stepped back and began to cackle maniacally. She wasn't particularly good at it, and soon let it fall into a few embarrassed chuckles and then a crimson cheeked silence.
She watched the raised rod avidly, a hungry look in her eyes and a hungrier growl in her stomach. A growl that made the thunder seem tame.
"Shut up, stomach," she muttered.
A half hour later she was wishing she had put on a raincoat, or at least another layer. She was soaked to the bone and absolutely chilled. Just a few more minutes though, she thought. Just a few more.
Almost another hour passed, and then, a great blinding column of magnificent white energy tore up from the ground, through the metal contraption and up into the sky, where it colided with its downward double. Less than a fraction of a moment later and it was gone.
She thought the smile would split her face in half.
She rushed over to the contraption, pulled out the rod, and dashed inside.
This time her laugh was real, a gleeful guffaw that bubbled up from her stomach and poured out in a rumbling growl.
Once inside, and free of the rain, she held aloft the rod to examine the results of this latest effort.
And her smile vanished.
It was... pink...
That was weird. The yeast should have turned more of a reddish color.
Tentatively she brought the rod down and nibbled a tiny piece of the strange pink mass.
She staggered backwards, her knees suddenly weak. Her vision blurred and her cheeks flushed. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat, her stomach gurgling in her abdomen, and her taste-buds performing an unparalleled work of opera without a single flaw.
Time of consumption of the whole kabob took about six seconds.
Success had never tasted so good.
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