tales for dreamers: cupcakes caught in the throes of an existential crisis

If you ask them, the cupcakes will tell you they don’t know where they came from. They don’t know who brought them here. Nor what the occasion is. This is the first time they’ve been let out of the box since they were born.

But surely there are too many of them to count; they look around at each other and nod their heads in agreement.

Will there be enough? one asks.

Enough cupcakes to go around? I ask.

No, enough people to feast on us, that one says.

Of course. Cupcakes are the reason most people turn up to parties and celebrations anyway, I assure them.

Turns out that answer isn’t satisfactory, and the cupcakes begin murmuring amongst themselves in voices too soft and low to be able to discern the words but loud enough to hint at their dissent.

Finally, the one that spoke earlier pipes up. Not all of us want to be eaten.

That was unexpected. But that’s what you’re meant for. To be savoured and enjoyed.

The murmurs of dissent rise again.

But we look pretty too, the spokes-cupcake says.

I have to agree. Why, yes. You do make for some very pretty decoration.

This elicits whoops of delight. Here’s what we’ll do then. Those of us who don’t want to be eaten will shape-shift into sunflowers instead. Go grab a few vases.

Before I can say anything in response, there is a progressive explosion of sunflowers on the table.

I can only hope that my guests don’t intend to turn up only for the cupcakes. Surely, there must be other reasons to attend a party.