Soggy Gingerbread

Explanation: For school, my mom took my sisters and me to the local gingerbread festival for a Creative Writing exercise. We were supposed to find a gingerbread house that struck our fancy and then write a story about the person making the house, and those who might actually live in the house. Realistically or not (my sister both wrote about gingerbread men coming alive).

My Gingerbread House Inspiration:






My Musical Inspiration:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QU6AhH2a1cU&feature=PlayList&p=F49866CA4A873543&index=34

My Story:


"Currently Untitled."

Claire dumped the candy rocks into a pie pan, as to better distribute them. Each rock was unique in its shape and size and color: some were as large as quarters, while smallest was the size of a sunflower seed. There were pink, blue, grey, brown, black, white, and orangish-red rocks.
Next, Claire opened a bag of pretzel sticks, and began snapping the pretzels in half. Finally, she had all her gingerbread house supplies ready and on the table—her workspace.
This was going to be no ordinary gingerbread house; it could hardly be called a house, but that is what it was: A lighthouse.
Claire uncapped the tub of vanilla frosting and began spreading it over the back end of the aluminum foil-covered square of cardboard that would serve as a base.
Stuck together with frosting, Claire formed the gingerbread walls of the lighthouse. It was intricate work, and Claire paid close attention to every detail. Soon, there were pretzel sticks for railings and a lollipop for a light. Crushed Corn Chex substituted as sand and the candy rocks decorated what would soon be a beach.
Claire uncapped the blue frosting, grabbed her butter knife, and began to form her ocean, twisting the knife to create a wave-like appearance.
Claire could almost hear the cry of seagulls….

Sophie gripped the railings, as she stared out over the darkened ocean. The storm was so fierce that her yellow slicker did little good, and her long brown hair clung to her face and neck as if its life depended on it.
Rain splattered into her eyes and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. “Please,” she whispered, her voice lost to the wail of the angry wind. “See the light.”
Just as she said this, she was engulfed by blinding light; and just as quickly, it disappeared. The lighthouse’s light was dimmer than usual, having experienced mechanical difficulties over the past few week, but at least it was running. That was all Sophie could ask for; that, and her husband’s safe return.
As the wife of a lighthouse keeper, Sophie was trained in predicting the weather. According to her predictions, the week of Christmas was to be unusually clear and sunny—perfect for traveling the seas.
She had said so in her telegram to her husband, Joshua, a week earlier. He had gone to the main island for supplies (Christmas shopping, Sophie had told herself excitedly) and had promised to be home by the holiday.
Tonight was Christmas Eve, and Sophie’s predictions had been completely misled. What had really happened was the opposite—an unusually fierce storm had arisen from nowhere that afternoon, and had already washed away the porch swing and their only dinghy.
Josh was somewhere out there, in that, and it was all her fault. She’d claimed the weather would be amiable—if she never saw her husband again, if he never experienced another Christmas, she would be to blame.
Tears, hot and salty, mingled with the rain that assaulted her cheeks.
Suddenly, the world was engulfed in darkness. Sophie screamed and swung around, nearly losing her balance on the slick deck.
“No,” she breathed, gaping into the nothingness before her. Lightning flashed, illuminating the glass room that housed the light. “No!” Sophie screamed again, this time in frustration.
The light had died, and with it any hope of Josh’s return.
Sophie yanked open the door and forced it closed behind her against the wind. Angrily, she slammed her fist against the light, hoping with a vain hope that it would jumpstart it back to life.
With one last glance at the unseen ocean, Sophie dashed downstairs to the control room. After locating a flashlight, she switched it on to better see the control panel…. Nothing happened. The batteries were dead.
Each second that passed in darkness, Josh could be drifting farther out to sea.
Frantic, Sophie rushed downstairs into the living quarters of the lighthouse. As she dashed for the junk drawer to find batteries, she noticed a dim light in the room: a single candle illuminating a simple nativity scene on the counter.
Temporarily distracted, Sophie stepped in front of it, watching the candlelight dance across the Christ-child’s face. He was smiling up into his mother’s peaceful face.
Mary had just given birth inside a stable, and yet she seemed so at ease. Sophie wished she could feel that same peace, and fell to her knees.

Claire lodged the toothpick mast into the gingerbread boat, turning it so the beaded sail was parallel with the boat.
With a tube of green icing, she christened the ship, “Troop 20517” after her last name and zip code. Finally, Claire positioned the ship into the blue frosting waves and hot-glued it into place.
The perfect finishing piece to her edible world.

Minutes later, Sophie opened her eyes. Something had changed; she no longer felt fear. Leaping to her feet, Sophie bounded up the lighthouse stairs, only to be blinded by a white light.
After regaining herself, Sophie stared out over the ocean, following the beam of light as it lit up the crashing waves. Miraculously, the light had relit; even more miraculously, Sophie noticed something being tossed by the waves. She strained to better see the object whip-lashing back and forth on the waves. She pulled the hood of her slicker further over her eyes.
Could it be? Sophie scarcely dared to believe, but then she remembered the babe in the manger, and immediately began to pray for the second time that night.
The floating object drew nearer, drawn to the light, and sure enough, it was a small ship.
Sophie was on the dock as the Troop 20517 pulled into shore. She yanked her miserable-looking husband onto the shore, and together they hobbled through the storm to the safety of the lighthouse.
Inside, Joshua Troop collapsed to the ground, panting.
“Josh,” Sophie cried, falling to his side. He turned over to face her, candlelight dancing in his tired eyes. She threw her arms around him, holding him close.
They laid there for several minutes, relishing the dryness of the lighthouse and warmth of each other’s company.
“Oh,” Sophie said suddenly. “I never prepared a Christmas meal. And the gifts! They’ll be ruined.”
Josh shushed her gently, squeezing her hand. “Sophie, forget about all that. All I need for Christmas is to be right here with you.”
Sophie relaxed and rested her head on her husband’s chest. She noticed the candle on the counter above them, still burning even after the opening of the door had let in gusts of wet wind. “He’s with us, too,” she said quietly.
Josh glanced at the light and saw the roof of the nativity’s stable, upon which stood a ceramic angel. Josh kissed the top of Sophie’s head. “He’s always with us. He led me home, even when I could no longer see the lighthouse.”
Sophie just smiled. Christ’s Light was all the direction they had ever needed.

Sitting back, Claire examined her work. She was grateful she didn’t live in a lonely lighthouse on a nearly deserted island, but then again, if she was with her true love and it was made of candy….
She plopped a leftover candy rock into her mouth. Next, she was going to build a gingerbread castle, complete with a dragon, a damsel in distress, and a knight in shining armor.

Story (C) Copyright 2009 Jillian Suzann Newell