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Whenever I pull a Chicken/Beef pot pie out of the oven, I take a deep breath and I’m instantly transported back to my childhood. While my mother didn’t make them often (I don’t remember if she made them by hand or pulled them from the freezer), I can’t help but see my mom’s beaming smile. Whenever my mind wanders to my mother, I feel her love wash over me. Fortunately, pulling out one of these pastries isn’t the only way for me to feel connected to her. Since she was the cook for my family, whenever I’m preparing meals for my family or myself, a warm smile creeps onto my face.

As the memories flood through my mind, I’m a little kid with my mother hovering over me, offering me her protection. So, when I pulled the action for this micro-tale, “Baking a Pie”, my mind instantly connected the pot pies of my youth with the protection offered by my mother. It also slid perfectly into Ramas’s world and allows me to explore his life.

Come, sit down and allow me to give you a mini-escape and kindle your imagination.

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Ramas wrapped his hand around the swirling motes of illumination. With a deep breath, he twisted the doorknob and shoved the door. When it struck the inside wall, Ramas stepped inside and cracked his neck. As the sea of tiny sparks danced about the blackness, Ramas’s lips twisted into a grin. “Am I disturbing you?”

The lithe woman glided across the vacant chamber, embracing Ramas. “You are.” She stepped back, tracing his arms with her fingertips. “However, that’s never bothered me.”

“Annabelle, where’s Silas?”

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