[ WP ] After brushing your teeth in the morning you go downstairs to fry an egg , but when you try the frying pan buzzes at you and text appears reading , `` level 18 cooking required to use object '' .

Of course I remember. Crystal clear like it was just yesterday – what got me to where I am now, this blank and endless limbo. 
 
 I never had the skill. And he exploited it – needled me every single day. That bastard. What made it worse it that I tried so hard. I really tried to cook. But I could never feel the talent bubbling, jumping, bursting through me like it should have. All those hours, all those years. 
 
 And there I was that crystalline morning, sitting at the breakfast table and waiting for the inevitable. And just now, in the space of an instant, here he came, my son. Demented, warped. Psychopathic. He leaned in close to my ear, his ragged breath making my neck hairs stand up. 
 
 Bastard. This time, I wasn ’ t going to wait for his taunts. I clenched my hands, pissed the floor, and twisted the burner on, all in one fluid motion. I waited for hell, for the fire to consume the both of us. I was going to take him with me. And I screamed. 
 
 “ Benzi chibna looble bazebni gweb! ” 
 

