Sorry for the wait. Yet this chapter turned out shorter than I thought it would. I know in another fic Sunny's friend is also Ellie. I DID NOT PLAGERIZE! So, please don't report me.
I was unfairly punished, like always, for my uncontrollable insanity. It wasn't my fault though. If Duncan hadn't looked so creepy I wouldn't be in this whole mess. So I sat in my room staring glumly at the phone. I couldn't stand the fact that it was off limits for a week. I sighed.
"You know," Klaus said startling me, "It's not that bad. You don't have to mope around all day."
"Yes, I do," I groaned, "That phone is my only connection to anyone."
"Whatever," he said.
Everyone had gotten used to my sarcasm and dramatic way of things. Just as I had gotten used too everyone else's perfection. Almost everyone I knew was unbearably perfect. So I went for the best therapy I knew, cooking. I absolutely loved cooking. It was a way to express myself. And you can't exactly eat a painting. My dishes usually tasted best when they were done with passion. That day I felt cheerless and very irritated. So I made a spicy soup. June was not usually the greatest time for soup, but it was more like a feeling rather than a dish. So I put as much infatuation in the soup a possible. So by the time Violet, Klaus, and the Quagmires were sitting at the table for dinner, the meal I had made was a culinary miracle, in at least some sense of the word miracle. Whichever, the soup was a steaming bowl of passion. I went around with the ladle and poured the scorching soup into everyone's awaiting bowls.
"Spicy soup," I said, feeling a little better about the phone, or lack of it, "Get it while it's hot."
"For you," I said to Klaus
"For you," to Violet
"For you," to Quigley
"For you," to Isadora
"No soup for you." I said to Duncan and sat at the table with my own bowl.
"Sunny," Klaus said, "Give Duncan his soup."
"Why?" I said, but after seeing Klaus's angry glare I filled Duncan's bowl.
Everyone quietly ate their soup.
" This is delicious, Sunny," Violet said.
"Thanks," I sighed.
Cooking was a kind of therapy like no other. You could create something and then have others thoroughly enjoy it. It was a kind satisfaction that lifted the spirit. So after dinner I sat pleased and contented on the sofa. No other creative activity left you with a feeling like that.
Yep. That was short wasn't it? The next chapter will be very long. And then I'll be on vacation, so, my loyal fans, you must endure the straining wait. B)
