Fish Over Bread

In a far-off place and time brothers Tommy and Gilford lived in a floating bakery on a big river. How the bakery came by the ability to float escapes the two even to this day, but how they found themselves in the bakery is quite simple. A war broke out in their home country, and a rain of bombs the news called “hail” ruined their family’s plans during the weekly trip to town. Separated from their parents Tommy and Gilford ran into the nearest building, a bakery, and hunkered down to wait out the storm. When they awoke the next day life as they knew it no longer existed. All that remained was the bakery and a whole lot of water.

But all was not dismal. The shelves were lined with carbs of all different shapes and sizes, much to the boys’ delight. They ate well and waited for something to happen. Nothing did, and soon the slow sways of the building over water lulled them to sleep. Awakened the next morning by the unmistakable smell of freshly baked goods they found, beyond all belief and many eye-rubs, a bakery just as full of fresh bread as the day before! A week later the brothers recognized no one was coming for them. A good cry later they crawled to the front door. It led directly out into a river with grassy fields on either side. With insects to chase out and birds to serenade the boys settled into their new life with the sort of ease only seen in young adaptable minds.   

A quiet morning months later found Gilford hard at work. Fastening a makeshift fishing rod, he threw open one of the big windows of the bakery and climbed onto the sill.

“What cha’ doing?” Tommy called from the floor, munching on a croissant out of boredom. There is only so much you can do on a boat, you see.         

“I want meat,” Gilford said matter-of-factly.

“Meat… You mean fish?” Tommy raised his head and squinted his eyes. “You’ll never catch anything.”

“Says you.” Gilford cast his line cheerfully and, wiggling his butt, settled in to wait. 

Tommy sighed. “I’m bored.”

“You should find a hobby.” Gilford suggested from the window. “Mom had a hobby,”

“Sewing? Where am I supposed to get that sort of stuff?”

“Dad had a hobby,” 

“Cars, brother, cars.”

 “Fish on, fish on!” Came a sudden cry. Gilford struggled to stand up in the window and nearly slipped out.

“What, really?” Tommy ran to the window. Grabbing his brother around the waist, what could only be described an epic battle ensued. The bakery tilted this way and that, throwing the boys’ home into disarray. Sweat-spots formed on their shirts, the likes of which are only ever seen on burly, bearded men hard at work. Tommy heard a crack and saw the front door fly open. In horror he watched, as the bakery swayed harshly, all the baked goods of the day fly to the floor and gently roll outside. Crying in dismay, Tommy heedlessly released his brother and ran to the door, but far too late. Soon joined by Gilford, the two boys looked out onto the most dismal sight since their swing-set caught fire from one particularly harsh hail-storm.

“Great,” Tommy slapped Gilford upside the head as soggy dough floated pleasantly around them. “Now what are we supposed to eat for dinner?” Gilford shrugged and brought into sight his catch: a giant flapping fish, big enough to feed two growing boys for quite some time – or at least until the next morning.  

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