B-Day
01/09/2008 . Source: Geoff Willmetts 
A short story by: GF Willmetts. In the future you have to use your loaf. In fact, the kinder people in the population might just invite you to one of their bread parties... I'm not going into work today. I can risk a sickie because today is important. Really important. I won the auction bid and today's the day my prize is going to arrive. I'm getting my first ever real loaf of bread.
Real bread's very rare and expensive today. In the old days, you could go into a baker's and buy from a selection of shapes, flavours and compositions. Layer it with butter and spreads like jam and it became manna to the taste-buds. Could never figure how the Yanks put wobbly jelly on theirs but each to their own. I heard that people in Russia used to queue to get their daily ration. Bread was popular. That would have been easy compared to these days.
The floods put pay to a lot of that. There just isn't enough land free from being water-logged long enough to grow enough wheat or rye to feed the population. Switching to rice bread seemed the only logical way to go. At least it wouldn't mind being water-logged. It also meant that there wasn't enough real bread to go around. The price went up and bakers who could get wheat or rye supplies became extremely wealthy. The real problem was how to sell the bread so everyone had a chance of having a loaf of bread. It even had government control to stop bread riots or 'excited queues' as the politicians down-played it.
A lot of ways to be fair were tried. If it wasn't the lottery then it was game shows on TV. The black market grew as well. It stood to reason that computer auction sites would contribute to sales for those who had no chance of winning anywhere else.
I always tried that way. The odds of winning the lottery are as rare as winning a million pounds. Who wanted to be shown as a desperate failure on TV and getting the runner-up prize of a stale crust? With an auction, the only thing that really counted was money and getting the last bet in. I finally did it this time. The loaf was mine and it was being delivered today.
Some people who get one have bread parties and share their loaf out. You've got to limit the number of friends or you'd be down to a square a person. Still can't figure out how Jesus fed a multitude with five loaves and three fishes.
That's the reason why I didn't want to share it. Not Jesus, the number of friends I'd suddenly acquire if they knew I had a loaf. I thought about that but considering each slice was...well, more money than you'd dream of you can just dream up on that idea. I've heard some people sell on slices after a good feed before it got stale. A good way to recoup what they'd spent but also too easy to be left with the crumbs, especially if you miscalculate the slices. No. This loaf of bread was going to be all mine. To smell. To savour. To eat. Definitely eat before there were neighbours smashing the door down after a slice. Don't I deserve a selfish moment?
The door-bell rang. It was here. I quickly opened the door, signed the chit and a hasty check to see no one was watching. On a work day, no one should be home. Thanking the man, I went back inside with my prize, wrapped in its own box.
I quickly unwrapped it and smelt the loaf. Odd! I poked it and then without ceremony, cut it open and tasted the white centre. I might not know what wheat-made bread smelt or tasted like but I knew what this was. Rice bread! I'd been sold a pup.
The rotten ba...
End
(c) GF Willmetts 2008
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