The lovely tray of baked biscuits made my mouth water,
my imagination wafted the aroma of fresh baking through my mind.
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I’ve made your favourite ginger biscuits for your party.
There is Mum, Dad, Tom, Helen, Bill and you, Samantha.
Oh yes, Buster and Kitty.
Samantha’s top lip trembled and tears dribbled down her cheeks.
Who is going to eat Dad?
You can. They are just biscuits, darling.
Why do they have names? I don’t want to eat our family.
It’s not nice.
They are all dressed up for your birthday, aren’t they pretty?
Mary wiped her daughter’s face. No names then. Just biscuits.
Her daughter’s perception plucked a string on Mary’s emotional violin.
She broke off Dad’s arms and head.