I'll take it from here #6

[Kitti]

The first sentence of a story can reel in the reader as they wonder what it means, what will happen next, or how it will tie in to the rest of the story. It can also be one of the hardest lines to write because it all begins with that first sentence.

Well, you're in luck! The purpose of this challenge is to see what you do with the rest of the story when the first sentence is provided. Use the sentence given as the first line of your story and see where it takes you from there.

First sentence:
The sight of the birthday cake, which still sat untouched on the table, made her chest ache.​

 

[PoetLore]

The sight of the birthday cake, which still sat untouched on the table, made her chest ache. The colorful balloon's that were tied to the back of the special chair seemed to droop a bit, though that was likely only in her mind. The phone at her ear held in a numb hand, felt like lead. "Mrs. Franklin? Are you still there?"

"Yes," came the faint wobbly reply.

There was more talking and she tuned out for a moment staring at the cake and the balloons as tears fell. Suddenly the words, "organ donor" pierced her mind. "Excuse me?' she interrupted, "What?"

"Was your husband an organ donor? And would you consent to your son .."

Her mind felt frozen and her lips seemed incapable of forming a reply. She heard a knock at the door then and holding the phone in her hand absently moved to answer it. The two police officers there greeted her with stony expressions and stiff posture. "Mrs. Franklin?" the taller man asked and she nodded. "We need you to come with us."

The voice on the phone was still calling out to her but she felt like everything was happening in a bubble and she couldn't punch through. The nurse on the phone tried again, and she was able to say, "yes." before hanging up the phone and reaching for her purse and keys, accompanied the officers.

 

[thempress]

The sight of the birthday cake, which still sat untouched on the table, made her chest ache; indigestion.

A woman looks on, stout, scowling with maternal disapproval. She says, "Margaret, don't you dare." And her voice goes higher as the birthday girl tries her luck: "I said don't even think about it!"

Two double-decked layers of iced perfection, lobbed in half by hungry guests -- though mainly by Margaret--, hoisted from her grip, gone. Now the girl is without it. Hardly hungry in its wake, but still. Margaret stands blinking, failing to shake a sense of betrayal. Is it not a special occasion? Who, then, should take it upon themselves to deny her indulgence? The thought of the sheet cake's being quashed by aluminum foil, and then having to fish it out of the back of their fridge after all the significance had been sucked from it-- that hurt much like any cramp. It wasn't just any old desert, it was emblematic, or something. In any case, it had almonds. What normal cake had almonds in it? It was fate incarnate for her to just finish the rest of it.

But, oh woe-- "Why don't you go... mingle with the guests, before you make yourself sick? Good heavens, girl, how much would you eat without me here?"

It was such an vacuous question, Margaret let it settle there, in contrary to her stomach. But she regretted nothing except for not waiting for her mother to leave the kitchen to re-enter. Without food, there wasn't incentive to be here with the woman as she readied the foil; she didn't care to be present during the death of her dreams. She exited in silence, her mother offering no reaction. Perhaps, then, the inquiry anticipated no response, but then why ask at all? Questions were destined to be answered. It seemed grown-ups could just break the rules whenever, wherever, as they pleased, however arbitrary. Apparently, as far as Margaret was concerned, adults were ruled by ridiculous complications, and hated children and fun.