Chapter Text
The heat of the summer sun warms the world outside, its beams penetrating through the cloudy glass windows of your home, bringing its persuasion for a productive day with it. As much as you appreciate the glow of the sunlight reflecting off of wooden furniture in your room, you can’t help but have a little disdain for its implications. Summer has been slow for you - much slower than usual. In the past, the end of school has always marked the beginning of a season of freedom and casual enjoyment; this year, it marks the beginning of a sequence of trials and errors and far too much paperwork for your liking.
Before we continue, let’s remind you of your name. You are Sam Bendrix- What’s that? You don’t remember what you’ve been doing this summer? Perhaps a full reminder of your current state is in order, given your fallacious memory.
Your name is Sam Bendrix, and you have just graduated college. After many exams, papers, and tests of your patience, you have left the school with your well-earned degree and have been searching for a job since then. However, despite applying to dozens of companies and attending a multitude of interviews, you have not been able to get hired by a single merciful employer. As such, you are still living at home with your parents and your younger brother. Your family does not mind housing you, but there’s a definite tenseness in the air whenever the topic of your job hunt is brought up -it’s more than clear that they’ll be happy to see you able to afford your own apartment.
Still, you’re doing your best. You can’t help but envy your brother a bit -he’s still a sophomore in college, and is yet to experience the struggle of the world of employment. Oh, such sweet innocence. He will know soon enough.
In the meantime, you’ve been trying to occupy your time with small, but meaningful, tasks. Cooking is on this list of activities. It is also the one you’ve been putting off the longest. Quite frankly, you have never done any substantial cooking before; you’d be hard pressed to even make a box of macaroni when no one is around to help you. You, Sam Bendrix, are terrified of cooking. You wish that food capsules that turn into a full meal when hydrated existed. But they do not, and sooner or later, you will have to come face to face with a room filled with tiled counter tops and dangling metal utensils that reflect the fires that enhance your endeavors to create a culinary work that will sustain your own well being. For now, you decide to start somewhere small - baking.
The idea comes to you when passing by the television one night; Paula Deen stands behind a Food Network logo, working her buttery magic on a lump of cookie dough. You watch just long enough to see her toss the tray of cookies into the pristine oven before she continues on to start another recipe, and it is enough for you to decide to start your cooking experiments off with a small batch of cookies.
You tell your family about your plan to utilize the kitchen by yourself for the first time in your life, and each relative wishes you luck. You ask them if they’d like to try your work once it’s done, but the shaky “maybe”s and “errr…”s is more than enough of an answer. Still, you don’t let your family’s skepticism of your culinary abilities dishearten you. You prepare to make cookies, regardless.
After consulting several online guides on basic tools, techniques, and procedures, several hours pass by before you remove your first batch of cookies from the oven. Your brother passes by the kitchen to scope out the state of the treats you’ve made, but just ends up turning on the kitchen fan and power walking back upstairs. You can’t blame him - these little lumps of dough look sad, like apricots that were left out in the sun for too long. Plus, the smell is less than desireable. Disappointed that your endeavors turned out to be fruitless, you toss the cookies into the trash can outside. For the rest of the evening, you watch the trash can from your window to see if the neighborhood raccoon will come to pillage these fresh spoils. It’s a few hours before it finally comes by, and the animal barely touches it before hopping over the fence and disappearing from sight.
You open your eyes only to have them squint in protest, recoiling from an onslaught of light. Focusing, you can make out two figures in front of you, shapes blurred around their edges by an incredible, all-encompassing brightness. You are not given time to let your eyes adjust before the figures begin speaking - at least, you think they are speaking. You can’t really tell since you can’t see them properly. Even if you were to close your eyes and simply try to listen to them, their voices seem strangely muffled, as though the light itself is dense enough to choke out sound.
Even so, you are able to get the gist of these peculiar figures’ words. One of them begins by telling you of a bright future: a future of success, of wealth, of prosperity. They speak of an advanced civilization in a land that’s rich and sweet. You aren’t terribly sure what they’re on about, but you can’t help but think back to your Religious Studies class your freshman year of college, what with the talk of a land of milk and honey. The second being starts speaking once the first has finished, and talks to you directly. They tell you that you have a role to fulfill, and that they know how to make you successful. You will know riches that no one else could ever dream of. You will bring about this advancement of civilization. You will change the world.
You can’t help but be more than a little skeptical of this all. The grandeur of this entire situation just seems fishy. You have no desire to become more successful than anyone has ever been. The thought of changing society like that hasn’t even crossed your mind. Still, something about these figures’ promises seem… inviting. You can’t quite place your hand on it - perhaps it’s this intense, sourceless light bathing you all in a golden glow, perhaps it’s the heavenly din of these voices filling your ears, or perhaps it’s just because the thought of actually getting a job sounds appetizing. Yeah, it’s probably the third reason there.
Without saying a word, the second figure begins to describe to you something you never thought you’d hear from an angelic, all-knowing being: a cookie recipe. They lay out each step slowly and deliberately for you, listing off each ingredient in detail, and you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you forgot a step. You decide to listen closely.
Once the figure is done telling you their tips for baking, both beings fade into the surrounding light, bodies dissolving into a sea of bright gold air. You don’t have time to wonder what comes next before a sharp buzz wakes you up, bringing you back to your room. With a curt grunt, you roll over and grab your cell phone from your nightstand - your grandmother has left you a voicemail.
“Hi, Sammy! It’s your nana! It’s been so long - you should really come visit more often! Call me back, okay?”
It’s five in the morning. Nana, couldn’t you have called at a better time?
Your mind is still buzzing with the odd dream you just had. You swear your eyes haven’t adjusted to how dark your room is. Setting your phone back down, you decide to get an hour or two more of sleep. You’ll call nana back once you wake up.
Maybe.