Knife's Edge

Taste, Jamie believed, was by far the most useless sense available to man.

And he... Was a chef.

Not in this life mind you, but in one where the God deemed it okay to take a man out of, just as he was able to lavishly spend those extra few cents north of what he needed to survive each month.

This one was not much better.

At least the old one for all its flaws had an A.C, and yes, that is the level of appreciation he had for his old world.

This was not to say he had any for his new one, because if you haven't gotten it by now, there were no air-cons here.

Which was especially irritating when you had to sit for prayer in a room that was not supposed to contain the amount of children that it currently did.

In addition to some nuns, who, God bless their souls, did not understand that the laws of thermodynamics dictates that black will absorb the most heat. And that it was not because "God wanted to give you a trial" that you should roast nicely in your monochrome overalls.

It's because of your lack of fashion sense and through no one's fault, the beginning of summer.

And while we're at the note of 'God', one must say that it was a wonder why Gods created worlds, when they were truly terrible at it. It was an even bigger wonder that a man such as Jamie believed in God.

Oh yes, if there was one thing that he knew, it was that somewhere out there, there were some bored-out-of-their-mind omnipotent beings who had absolutely nothing to do with their eternity and decided to create a spherical aquarium to put creatures into. Among them, an "Intelligent" species which at the beginning and end of their life span lost control over their bowels.

And for some reason, (Probably because of everything he thought in the previous paragraph [P.S: If God is reading this, it's Jamie's not mine -Sincerely Author]), they decided to make Jamie the butt of their joke this time by deciding that he probably hadn't properly enjoyed his 35 years in the other world and decided that he would prefer to continue in a different, significantly more scenic, torture chamber as a 12 year old.

The punchline however, was that he still had to pray to the same asses who put him here. Even if he was feigning, the whole ordeal was humiliating.

At least back in his old world the slobs they stuck him with were always too busy getting to the bottom of a bottle or too far past it to bother asking him to pray, or feed him for that matter.

The sisters on the other hand were much more eager with the rod than one would expect of their post. It seemed that a life of celibacy didn't do as well in the stress relief department as beating the ever-flowing snot out of a kid.

In the end, guys like Jamie who only arrived here with recipes in his head had little to no resistance to the methods employed by these sadists.

If he didn't know any better, their secondary career option might have come with some latex outfits, a whip and some older men who found joy in pain.

---

"Puaaah!" He finally got a breath of fresh air as he exited the doors of the cathedral.

The trade off for being able to breath was that he was now at the mercy of the sun's rays. Why the other children saw this as the opportune moment to be over-energetic was baffling to him.

Almost to the point of lamenting what children were stripped down to when you take away their phones and gadgets.

Failing to understand, that in a world where "responsible" parents didn't stick their child to a bright screen to get them to shut up, a child walking towards the kitchen as soon as he was let out was comparably more out of place.

"Hello Trudy," He said, pulling back the curtain that replaced a door they couldn't afford.

"Shouldn't little pissants like you get more time in the sun?" A gruff voice called out to him originating old lady who was at this moment bent over the stove.

"Shouldn't you be in a box 6 feet under ground?" He replied as he walked in.

"Eh, they tried to put me there several times, I got bored and dug my way out, too comfy if you ask me," She shrugged without even sparing him a glance. Her wrinkled hands peeked out her oversized cloak as it darted towards a shelf above her head, scraping against the sides of several ancient containers before plucking one out of the line up. "You'd like it."

"You think so?" He asked rolling up his sleeves while his free hand began to pull out plates off a disordered rack. He gave each one a thorough look before shuffling them back into the bottom oof the stack.

"Positively," She chuckled, taking a whiff from the bottle. "It's dark, quiet and you don't have to talk to a lot of people."

"That sounds absolutely lovely," Finally he had selected two that he could use from this 'viable' selection of... he refused to classify them as tableware.

"Heh, it actually does," Flakes of some kind of black material rained into the pot, dying it into an uglier shade of brown that, two seconds ago Jamie had thought impossible. "Now that I think about it, I should've stayed there, if you find yourself wondering if there's more to life when you're thirty, I'll tell you right now, there isn't, so if an angry mob decides to bury you in a shallow grave, stay there."

"I see the next thousand years after that have made you wiser," he responded. All the while turning the circular slabs this way and that, hoping he could find an angle which would give the wooden veins a slightly less unpleasant look. Much to the table tops dismay as it creaked in response.

"Ten!" she glowered. "And no, if anything, living makes me weary."

"You and me both." he admitted.

"You're 12." she reproached.

"And here." he replied without missing a beat.

"Touché," she took a spoonful and tasted it, nodding as her lips pursed agreeably.

Finally he gave up on the plates and decided there was no helping it.

"You should still try to find happiness nonetheless," her voice drifted over.

"Yeah?" he paused. "Well I wouldn't know what it'd look like if I did."

"It's not so hard," she replied. "Just try to look at the other kids around you, get a hint on what makes them happy."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think I'll ever enjoy caking myself in mud as the others."

He walked over to one of the pot simmering over a fire, it's lid clattering rhythmically while bits of steam drifted up in streams.

"Well..." Trudy has to concede with him on this point. "What about the sisters? Sister Mary seems absolutely peachy."

"That's true," he pondered. "And I think I know what makes her happy."

"Oh?" her ears perked up.

"It definitely wasn't having your teeth garnish her soup yesterday," he answered her curiosity flatly.

"Wasn't mine, maybe one your of baby teeth fell into it," she scowled.

"You're decaying into your stew as we speak," he responded.

"I'll have you know I was adding some crunch to her soup yesterday, ain't no good just drinking down soup all the time," she just did a 180 on her defense on the fly and said it with such skill and vehemence, that Jamie wondered if there was ever a point to the Oscars. "Besides she was looking too skinny."

"Ah yes, that's definitely not something any girl in their twenties want," he remarked sarcastically, "being too skinny."

"Yeah, the convent ain't a life for girls her age, loins still aching for a good S'urvit," she tried to turn the conversation.

"Really? And here I thought you wanted me to take her as an example. I'm sorry, I forgot what was it you called her just now?" He gloated, "'Peachy' was it?"

"Keep going, I'll make sure you go back to eating with the others and scoop your bowl myself." Trudy muttered annoyedly.

"Alright alright." Jamie cheekily raised his hands up in a show of surrender.

The back of his neck however, had begun to exude a cold sweat.

Who knew how much the flavor of their meals could be attributed to her sloughing skin. Which, more often than anyone would care for, would unintentionally fall into that pot.

That being the case, he certainly didn't want to know what it would taste like if she attempted it on purpose.

Gingerly he lifted the lid, releasing a mushroom cloud of aroma which coalesced into an almost beckoning visage in the confined ceiling of the kitchen space.

As soon as it came it dissipated, like curtains pulling back to reveal glistening yellow skin swaddled tightly around the plump breasts of a fowl, almost threatening to burst as simmered in a concoction of it's own essence.

Trudy, who's eyes seldom wandered from her own dishes found it drifting towards this spectacle.

Watching as Jamie's hands deftly entered and plucked it up by it's legs, a viscous extract of savoury gold trickling down its side and back into the pot.

As soon as the last drop splashed back in the water, his hands had already gone back to work. One laying the whole piece on a wooden table top while the other reached out for a knife from Trudy's meager collection.

Selecting one whose blade angled awkwardly forward, resembling kukri knives more than it's own modern counterpart. A poor replacement for anything he'd had access to in his old life, and one he'd never pick if not for the fact that it was the sharpest amongst it's peers on Trudy's rack.

The fingers on his left danced like a specter along the piping hot meat feeling the spring beneath his own cuticles. After a round about it, his knife came down with nary a hesitation.

While he complemented it among her collection, Trudy's knife was incomparable to any he'd had access to in his own time.

With knife's blade looked more like chipped stone instead of purposefully smelted steel. The only silver lining here being that it was up against Jamie's current dish...

Which could probably be cut with a spoon.

Tender skin and flesh stretched in slight resistance as the knife came down upon it, threatening to bounce the knife back up for a fraction second.

A froth of melted fat and oil shot out from either side of the blade as it made it's way through the body. The pieces found itself assorted into an array of neatly cut pieces, each the perfect proportion of succulent skin and tender meat.

"Ooh." Seeing the beautiful end product, Trudy couldn't help but drool. "So what do you call this dish boy?"

"Boiled chicken," the young man answered immediately, almost causing her to lose her temper.

What was the point of all that fanfare if all he was going to bring out was boiled chicken!?

'Kids these days really have too much time on their hands.' Trudy thought, as she did so a plate slid right in front of her.

Six even slices sat upon the plate, the meager portion looking even more minuscule on their gigantic all purpose table wares.

"Your share." Jamie spoke before heading out the door without another glance.

---

Trudy's annoyed expression was gone about the same time the kid left her vision, as she turned her attention to the plate.

A month was enough for her to learn that nothing that came out of this kids hands were ordinary.

She recalled vividly, up to the minute and second when a kid came barging into her kitchen screaming that he couldn't eat the food that came out of this place any longer and wanted to cook his own food.

She couldn't remember the last time anyone stepped foot in here, much less dare to speak anything past a please and thank you. Even the priest would find himself on the wrong side of her fist should he throw such a tantrum on her turf.

Maybe she hadn't had a lot of visitors for a while or was just particularly bored that day.

Whatever the case was, she decided to take the opportunity to amuse herself. A decking could always be delivered later and what better show was there than to watch a confused child run around the kitchen like a headless chicken.

The kid leaving here just seconds prior without any traces of brain damage was more than sufficient evidence that the scenario had not gone quite as she had expected.

However, even with that month under her belt, it was difficult for her to see what was so special about this dish. After all, how far could one truly vary a dish of the same name?

To her eyes and nose, the pieces on the plate was simply, for all intents and purposes, boiled chicken.

A ruse she would've fallen for had she not decided to take a closer look.

A single brush of her fingers on it's gleaming surface gave it away.

She'd wanted to pick it up to scrutinize the contents only to be taken aback when the feedback her cuticles received deviated greatly from what she was expecting.

It had an almost ethereal consistency to it, making her question if she had in reality touched the piece. The only evidence in support of which, was the sheen of oil that now coated her wrinkled digits.

Her next attempt was exceedingly more frustrated as an anxiety induced tremor ran up her hand. Nothing was more important to her as a cook than to evaluate this dish properly and she was afraid that the slightest misplaced twitch might've caused the whole thing to dissipate.

The thought of which elicited a smirk she hadn't used for ages, catching herself in this moment moment of almost child-like curiosity.

Finally stabilizing her hand for long enough to feed herself, she plucked the piece and very gently placed it squarely in the center of her tongue and brought her jaw to a close.

In response, a pair of intelligent pupils of faded Grey slowly revealed themselves, emerging from the age sunken slits that made up her sockets.