Cookie Jar
by Zach Smith
His hand had been
in the cookie jar; this point must be made clear.
There were fewer cookies in the cookie jar than
there had been earlier in the day, and no one had
been in the kitchen except him. He also had
cookie crumbs on his face. The most overwhelming
evidence was that his hand was still in the
cookie jar, and he was eating the cookies even as
we spoke.
“Hey, those
were my cookies,” I said. “I was going
to give them to a friend.”
“I
didn’t touch them,” he calmly replied.
“Yes you did,
your eating them now.”
“No I’m
not,” he said as he ate another. “And
besides what makes them yours?”
“I made them.”
“No you
didn’t, I did,” he said.
“I made them
yesterday when you weren’t here.”
“Why would
you just give these cookies to a friend? If you
gave them directly to me then all three of us
would have more cookies, than this jar could hold.”
“That
doesn’t make any sense,” I said.
“You know the
problem is eventually you’ll run out of
other peoples cookies to give away.”
“But these
are my cookies, and you’re the only one
eating them.”
“Look, I need
these cookies to build up my strength to protect
you.”
“Protect me
from what?” I asked.
“From other
people eating your cookies,” he calmly
replied.
“But
that’s you, you’re the only one eating
them.”
“No I’m
not,” he said, while cookie crumbs fell from
his mouth.
“Okay, I
don’t even understand what you’re
talking about any more, but I won’t say
anything else because I don’t want to offend
you. Can I at least get a cookie?”
“All gone,”
he said tipping the jar to show that there was
not a single cookie left.
“You ate all
my cookies?” I asked.
“Nope, you
ate all the cookies.” he said. Then he left
the kitchen, with a small pile of cookie crumbs
for me to clean up.
“I’m not
cleaning this mess up!” I yelled, but he was
not around to hear me, and it didn’t really
matter because I cleaned it up like I always do.
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