The cracked ravines that snaked through the slopes of the bulbous mountaintop were shaded under the fluorescent light. It must have been the angle of the rays, or perhaps how close to the edge of the precipice the whole construction was precariously perched.
I surveyed the landscape with careful consideration. There was no easy approach. No matter what face I attempted to conquer first, there would be damage to take. Below the mountaintop, the stout regular trunk fell off in sheer walls, scarred with regular folds of greasy skin. This was not a way in. It wasn't a way out either, just the hard facts of the territory to tackle.
I stood there, wondering what adventures had taken place in these ripples of terrain before my time. Did streams once flow through these sinuous grooves? Did midnight blue meteors crash-land on the surface of this foam-filled planet? What tectonic shifts created the almost perfectly regular summit of this fascinating world? So many questions, unanswered and unclaimed.
I shifted position to find a better angle. I could see the edge of the lower walls balance dangerously on the lip of the metallic slab where the whole entity was stationed. A creeping wind was rising. The slab began to vibrate with an unnerving rattle. There was very little time. I had to move. Fast.
As I signalled the beginning of the onslaught to the waiting crew, I reached out to rescue the microcosm from its impending fall. Just then, the angle of the ventilation twisted and struck the mountaintop head-on, tipping the balance to send the entire landmark into freefall. In a split-second, my hand closed around the oily base, crushing several layers of subterranean stratification in the process. My grip slipped a little. I tightened my fist. Several blue spheres broke free of the soil under the added pressure, tumbling down the slopes and into oblivion. More cracks appeared on the upper surface, tearing through the landscape. I closed my eyes. A world was meeting its demise.
Then, as suddenly as the mayhem had begun, it was over. I opened my eyes and looked at my hand. Though battered and bruised, my muffin was still there, saved from a deep fall off the tray that had hosted it within the glass display. Relieved, I took great pleasure in biting off the edge of it bulbous head. As I chewed into the delicate wispy texture of the dough, mixed with crushed blueberries and a hint of vanilla, I spared a thought for the imaginary but vivid adventures that had taken place on the hills of this proud pastry.
I wrestled, as expected, with the paper wrapping sealed around the central core. Taking bite after bite, closer and closer to the folded pulp skin, I closed the chapter of a dying world. With a final snap of teeth came the final claim on the muffin's terrain. The paper was bare. There was nothing left.
Where once upon a time, great invisible beings had led adventurous lives, fighting through the canyons of blueberry goodness, there now stood nothing but a memory. A memory for the world of a wholewheat muffin.
With a lingering taste of blueberries and a hint of vanilla.
