Sarsaparilla Alphabet #2

B - BUTTER

On a glass plate on a long dinner table draped with a crimson table cloth sits a block of butter. Taking a seat, Edward wraps his head around the chair's arms, which are carved with snarling griffins. The butter sits 25 feet away, and Edward stares at it. He leans down onto the table, twists his head to the side, and stares at it, as if at any moment, it will show signs of life. He grabs a butter knife, holding it like a machete. He stands up slowly, careful to not arouse suspicion. He freezes. The butter's watching. Ducking behind the black curtains, Edward peeks out the side for his chance. No good, it seems to have eyes on all five sides. He has one last chance.

In two solid motions, he cocks his arm backs and heaves his mighty weapon at the beast's heart. Just nicked him, he snarled. But at least he's wounded. This may be my chance!

Edward ran like a madman, howling a war cry with both his hands in the air. He leaped onto the table and grabbed the butter with both his hands and wrestled with the foul beast. Gaining the upper hand, he smashed it into a slice of bread, vanquishing the malevolent being.

Edward carried his spoils back to his large chair with the griffins engraved into the arms and sat and placed it next to the five forks, two knives, three spoons, and a cloth napkin, folded in a way that resembled a swan. Unfolding the napkin into his lap, he sank his teeth into the bread, spotting his luxurious mustache with yellow entrails. There was a knock on the door, and a man in a crimson suit (adorned with a brilliant yellow ascot) emerged from the other side of the tall, heavy, wooden doors.

"Prime Minister? I come to discuss a possible treaty for peace."