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Description
I read the next page of a book I had read over and over. I never grew tired of it. I sat up and stretched, hearing my tummy rumble. Okay, home alone, no left overs, just caned stuff and...cold crap. I got up, walking over to the kitchen, searching the cupboards, already having ruled out both the refrigerator and pantry. I opened the first one that didn't contain dishes, and my eyes landed on a small blue box. A food I used to make when I was really small and had a babysitter, my favorite fast food other than ramen. Macaroni and cheese. Yum.

I took the box, and got out a pot, dumping the noodles in and filling it with boiling water. I went into my room, getting my book and walked back out into the kitchen, sitting at the dining table and passed the time with reading. The oven dinged, signaling that the noodles were done. I took the pot to the sink, the strainer already there, as I did as the word meant, I strained the noodles from the water. I then put it back on the stove, opening the pack of cheese, dumping it in. Then I put in the small amount of milk. I went in search for the butter, but there wasn't any in the fridge. So I looked in the butter dish. And misfortune hit my small, fragile heart.

There was no more butter for my mac and cheese.

Description
I read the next page of a book I had read over and over. I never grew tired of it. I sat up and stretched, hearing my tummy rumble. Okay, home alone, no left overs, just caned stuff and...cold crap. I got up, walking over to the kitchen, searching the cupboards, already having ruled out both the refrigerator and pantry. I opened the first one that didn't contain dishes, and my eyes landed on a small blue box. A food I used to make when I was really small and had a babysitter, my favorite fast food other than ramen. Macaroni and cheese. Yum.

I took the box, and got out a pot, dumping the noodles in and filling it with boiling water. I went into my room, getting my book and walked back out into the kitchen, sitting at the dining table and passed the time with reading. The oven dinged, signaling that the noodles were done. I took the pot to the sink, the strainer already there, as I did as the word meant, I strained the noodles from the water. I then put it back on the stove, opening the pack of cheese, dumping it in. Then I put in the small amount of milk. I went in search for the butter, but there wasn't any in the fridge. So I looked in the butter dish. And misfortune hit my small, fragile heart.

There was no more butter for my mac and cheese.