One day, a Chef called his assistants to give them a particular instruction.
"Come here everyone."
More than a thousand assistants attended the call of the Chef.
"As you see, we are having an experiment as to how each cup of equalled measures of water and meat would come out after giving each one its random additional ingredients."
Everyone nodded as all looked at the vast tables full of numerous cups on top, that were surrounding them and the Chef standing on a high platform.
The Chef continued talking.
"Now, down below this platform, where I am speaking to you, are buckets of different spices and other ingredients I want you all to add on those cups without any definite measures."
The eyes of everyone then turned their gazes to the buckets referred to by the Chef.
One of the assistants was curious to know why the additionals would be unmeasured.
The Chef gave a smile.
"You will find out later. Just do what I say."
The response gave curiosity and an inside excitement to the assistants. Some hurriedly went in to pick up the buckets, while others just joined slowly. But everyone has one aim: to do the will of the Chef and wait what happens next.
Looking at each bucket, they found some with sugar, some with salt, squeezed lemon juice having a cup hanging on its handle to use to throw to the table full of cups, and other ingredients in solid or liquid form.
Each one picked up a bucket and went back in front of the platform to listen for more instructions.
"There you go everyone. As you can see, each table is full of many cups in unequalled numbers. So you will have to grab from the bucket or use the cup for the liquid, and throw them as far as you can to cover all the cups. Some will receive less, some will receive more. Don't worry about it."
Everyone gave a look at each other then shrugged their shoulders as if saying, "as you say."
The Chef continued.
"Go ahead. Make sure each table receives all kinds of spices and other ingredients."
Then all the assistants went to do as instructed.
The assistants were all of different body build and heights. Some were men, others were women. So some would grab more spices to spread over the cups, some less. Some could reach farther, some closer. But the job was done.
Finally, all the buckets were emptied and everyone went back to put their last buckets back under the platform. The Chef was seated on a chair that looked like a throne in the middle of the platform.
The Chef stood up from his chair and called everyone to join him on top of the platform.
"Come here with me, all of you."
The writer, observing everything from the start of the story while standing from the corner, realized that while the assistants went up the stairs to join the Chef, the crystal glass floor of the platform increases its size automatically to provide space for everyone.
As soon as all the assistants got onto the floor, all heading their attention to the cups, a form started to rise up from each cup.
"Humans!"
The writer exclaimed.
Looking back at the face of the Chef and all his assistants, he saw spirit forms like angels in white robes, except the Chef that has been turned into white clouds.
As he looked back at all the tables, he found himself faced with a big map of the earth.
"What is this?"
He asked himself.
A voice he heard from behind him, whispering something.
"Check the buckets."
He turned around but no one. So he took the stairs to go down the platform.
He saw each bucket with a name written on it.
"Kindness, generosity, courage, faith, hope...etc."
As he moved more, he discovered other buckets with tags in contrast.
"Harshness, greed, cowardice, lies, disbelief, despair...etc."
He paused and tried to remember what they were before.
"They were ingredients like sugar as sweetness, lemon as sourness, pepper for spiceness, and more."
He went back to the platform and saw the Chef, as human and all his assistants too. He heard the Chef's order this time.
"Go everyone and harvest."
The writer turned his gaze to the surroundings of the platform and found grown crops and fruits.
He shook his head and realized he was seated on a balcony of the vacation house he rented to continue his writing. In front of him, a vast land of trees and their fruits.
He turned to his pen and talked to it, laughing to himself.
"At least, this time, I did not wake up from a dream. Am I becoming normal?"
He tried to continue writing, but the pen stopped. Out of ink.
(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar
