The Perfect Recipe

A/N: Yet another week, yet another story…



If there was one thing Jonas Svensson had always wanted then it had to be the perfect ham and cheese sandwich. His favourite moment from when he was a child had been when his mother made him one. Playing soccer with his friends, rescuing damsels in distress on his computer, eating candy, had all been less important than that first bite of a really good ham and cheese sandwich. But somehow, no matter how good his mother’s had been, there had never been quite the perfect balance between the bread, the cheese and the ham. It was, in Jonas humble opinion, the most important thing to consider when making a ham and cheese sandwich.

He grew up to be a web developer, because it had seemed like as good a job as any, and lived in an age of twenty-eight in a beautiful apartment, which had been equally beautifully furnished by his two sisters.

It wasn’t like he was obsessed or anything. He liked his job, and had quite a few hobbies. He liked building miniature airplanes and he was still a member of a soccer club. But his favourite hobby was still to experience in order to create the perfect ham and cheese sandwich.

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Due Tuesday

As Thomas O’Connell sat with a cup of steaming Earl Grey, and the Sunday Newspaper spread out in front of him; he knew that life had been good to him. Him and his wife Sarah had met when he was but twenty-two and had married a year later. They had been married for just over fifty years, and he still found her as beautiful and kind as when he’d first laid eyes upon her.

They’d gotten three equally beautiful children, who had each gone out and been successful in their own way – Riley as a mother of three, Sam as an environmental lawyer and Tobias as a pilot.

It was just a few years back Thomas quit his job as an architect, which he had loved, and they had enjoyed their golden years ever since.

Yes; life was good when your name was Thomas O’Connell.

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May & Joe Joey Joe

In a red-bricked cottage, surrounded by a garden filled with the kind of flowers, which are to certain people commonly known as weed, a young girl was fiddling with a teapot. She was serving the tea with a kind of ease, which came through years of repetition, while simultaneously trying to read the book placed on the kitchen counter.

Still reading, the young girl finished serving her tea, before making a beeline to the most comfortable chair in the adjoined living room, levitating the tea behind her as she walked.

The living room was one of those cosy sort of places, where you immediately felt at home. Soft rugs covered the floors, comfortable chairs were placed wherever deemed suitable and there was a blazing fire in the old-fashioned fireplace, covering almost an entire wall. Boxes of chocolate and piles of books covered every suitable surface, and a smell of newly baked goods came from the kitchen.

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