A gingerbread man lives in a gingerbread house. Is the house is made of flesh, or Is he made of house? He screams for he does not know. -- Anon Guest
[AN: I do recall a comic on this theme, so it is hard to not riff on that. No, it's not the one you referenced.]
Sugar, spice, everything nice, a modicum of flour. All the things that make a treat. Hands moulded them into shapes. Imagination gave them life. Well. Some of them were given life...
A hand reaches out to touch a wall. It feels like the skin of his mother. This is the way the world is. This is the way it always has been. Nevertheless, there are questions. Why everything is flat. Why there is only the pretty things on the outside. Why some things are sugar, and other things are gingerbread. How did it get there?
Call this child... Curly. They have been either blessed or cursed with a questing mind, it's difficult to tell which it is. The sort of mind that asks the interesting questions is also the kind of mind that won't stop at disturbing answers.
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