"Unlike a man, a woman doesn't need to use brute force to kill a nest of rats! " His grandmother told him, smiling, as she walked across to the small pantry and opened the door before standing on her tippy toes to rummage through its meagre contents on the top shelf until she found what she was searching for. Lifting down a small jar, full of white powder, she turned and walked back to the table where he stood on the chair, watching her every move with childish excitement as she placed the jar down next to the bowl that held the cake batter.

He frowned in concentration as he began to try to read the name on the label on the bottle that his grandmother had written in her neat, distinctive handwriting, feeling proud as he started to try and sound out the word just like his grandmother was teaching him. "Sss … ttt… rrr ... yyy -"

"Strychnine," his grandmother told him distractedly as she carefully removed the jar's lid and scooped out three large tablespoons of the poison and added them to the extra sweetened mixture. She stopped and chewed her bottom lip in indecision for a moment before she spooned in another large tablespoon and nodded in satisfaction. Picking up the bowl, she began to mix the batter, until she was satisfied that she had mixed the grainy looking powder in. Placing the bowl back down on the table, she turned to grab the cake pan that she had greased and floured in preparation of the batter.

Waiting until she had turned her back, he quickly climbed up on his chair and reached across the table before quickly dipping his fingers into the yummy mixture as he had done so many times before.

Turning back to the table just as he dipped his fingers into the chocolatey goo, she lightly grabbed a hold of his hand and carefully wiped the mixture from his fingertips with her apron as she gently scolded him with a smile. "Ohh, no you don't, I'm not making this cake for you, I'm making it for someone else."

His bottom lip trembled in disappointment as a single tear began to trickle down his face. His grandmother never made cakes for anyone else but him.

"Don't cry, Sweetheart, I promise that I will bake another cake, bigger and better than this one, just for you." She soothed him as she walked around the table and kissed the top of his head before lifting him down and turning him towards the door. Lightly swatting his bottom, she smiled lovingly down at him as she gently ordered, "Now why don't you go outside and play, so that your poor old grandma can finish making this cake. And if you are very good and play quietly outside, after we deliver this cake, we will go to the park for a while."

"You promise, Grandma?" he asked excitedly, his disappointment over the cake forgotten.

"I promise, now go!" She forced a smile as she watched him skip outside before the smile slipped from her lips and she felt her own tears begin to well up in her eyes. Life was so unfair! After losing his mother, only hours after his birth, he should be growing up with his father and not with her. But today, she promised herself, she was going to get her revenge against the firemen who had stood back and let her son burn to death less than twelve months ago.

Swiping her tears away, she turned back towards the table and picked up the bowl before pouring its contents into the cake tin. After using the spoon to scrape the last dregs of the cake mix into the cake tin, she carefully picked the cake tin up and placed it onto the middle rack in the oven to bake before closing the oven door.

Checking the oven temperature, she nodded her head, satisfied that it was not too hot, as she wiped her hands clean on her apron. Walking back into the small pantry, she began to collect the ingredients she would need to make the chocolate butter icing as well as the fancy red fire truck decoration that she had bought to put on top of the cake.

Laying everything she needed out on the table, she turned and picked up the cardboard cake box she had also bought to deliver the cake in. Picking up her fancy gold colored pen, she unconsciously poked the tip of her tongue outside the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on printing "For All The Firemen Of Station 51" on the lid of the box in her best and fanciest handwriting.