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My frying pan has made appearances in several In&Outs. This is its story.
[Introduction] A frying pan has appeared in several Writing.com In&Outs and has caused some serious mayhem (and a few headaches). However, there are many unanswered questions surrounding this mysterious kitchen item. Where did it come from? Why does Aravan have it? Will it ever stop hurting people? And, most importantly, Can a frying pan have its own destiny? Or, in the end, is it *gasp* JUST a frying pan!? All these questions and more are soon to be answered!
Sunday 8:32 am

I woke up, but something was very, very strange. It was Sunday. Before noon. And I was...awake? Odd. Like most Sundays, I didn't even work today. I don't use an alarm clock so there was no explanation as to why I was awake this early. Anyway, I decided to make the most of it

It was time...for omelets!! I walked into the kitchen part of my apartment which consists of the basic utilities, a table with four chairs and three stools around the counter. I went to the fridge and grabbed the carton of eggs. I also got out a tomato, cheese, milk, green pepper, an onion, the package of bacon and a box of sausages.

I started the stove and went to the cabinet only to find that something was wrong. The frying pan...it was....gone!?!? I went to my roommate's door and knocked with no answer. I went into his room and found him half on, half off his bed. Apparently, the poor guy had too much to drink at the bar the night before. So I kicked him, partially to amuse myself to see the reaction I would get. Nothing. He was out cold. I kicked again, harder this time. He merely grunted.

"Dude, frying pan?" I asked.

"Mmmf," was his reply as he buried his head under his pillow.

After a couple minutes of trying to get him to make an intelligible response, I found out that the frying pan was the unfortunate casualty of a fight between him and his girlfriend earlier this weekend. The thing was totally dented out of shape and had been thrown into the dumpster out back. Wonderful.

I turned off the stove, put the ingredients back into the fridge and went to take a shower. After getting dressed, I decided it was still early enough to do breakfast and, since I had been thinking about it, I really wanted an omelet. I headed outside and up the street towards the shops with the intent of getting a new frying pan. Little did I know what that simple object would come to mean to me...

I passed by the drugstore and the hardware, figuring they wouldn't have any frying pans for sale, although with a drugstore you never know and I suppose the hardware store might have camping supplies, but I didn't want a backpackers lightweight frying pan. I wanted the real thing, solid with a good non-stick interior and a sturdy handle.

Sammy's Pawn Shop? Why not? Somebody might have pawned an excellent set of cookware. Sammy was smoking a cigar while he restrung a guitar.

"Hey, Sammy! Got any frying pans?"

"No, I don't. What? You think there's a big demand for frying pans? Forget about it! Guns and guitars. That's the big movers. Maybe tools, but the way things are going lately, who needs tools? Try the Goodwill Thrift Shop. They got pots and pans."

The Goodwill was open and they did have pots and pans but what a sorry collection - all scratched and worn. Some of them even had particles of dried food stuck to them. Yuck! But the clerk had some advice for me. "Try Aileen's Trash and Treasure," he said.

"I never heard of Aileen's."

The clerk pointed. "Just go a block that way and there is a short alley. Maybe you never noticed but it's there. Aileen's is just a little ways up in that alley. It's hard to see because there is no big sign, but the name is painted on the window. You'll find it."
"Thanks," I said. The clerk nodded and went back to clerking. As I left the Goodwill, I wondered just what kind of organization was being conducted there. The poor workmanship was unforgivable. I hoped that Aileen's would be the last stop in my pan-finding journey.

As I approached the alley that the clerk indicated, I began to lose hope. Dark shadows covered the tall, crumbling buildings. The wind howled; the birds stopped chirping musically, and the air became rank with garbage. I could understand why a business wouldn't have a sign in this area: it felt so shady.

Was I looking for a black market operation? A criminal underworld where kitchenware was the only currency that mattered? The streets seemed to lure me with an evil call. You there...!, they seemed to call. My destiny--whether cruel or sublime--was leading me in a direction that I had not considered.

I watched a rat scurry across my path. He was running away from something. I imagined myself as a rat: running from my troubles through the filth of the streets. Looking for a home; a life; a frying pan... Just then, a cat scratched my leg. At first, I was startled, but I began to perceive a meaning in this vague omen. Like the rat, I was being chased by a cat--a figurative one, but also a literal one, which ruined my pant leg. The feline looked up into my eyes as if to say, Get your head out of the clouds!--a valuable lesson.

It was when I began to analyze my life of omelet-making that I realized that I was being yelled at by a woman. "What the heck are you doing with that dreamy look on your face? Come over here and check out my wares. I've been expecting you." The sign on the window behind her said 'Aileen's'.
Alieen. Definatly one of the most vile women to ever graze my eyes. Her huge arse bulged out of her pants, as did her hairly legs. Her toothy smile had less teeth than a newborn baby, and her fatty arms extruded more hair than the moustaches of mexican men. I could have sworn there were moles on her face than moles alive on the planet. I carefully worked my way around her, and her disgusting rack of perfumes, Scent ala Skunk, 'till I found the thing. It's handles were light, yet supportive, it's large body flat and pure. It shone like the bumper of a rich man's Limo, and seamed to be of solid titanium! Perfect for omeletes! I grabbed the pan as if it was my soul mate, and dashed to the register, fumbling into my pocket for money. Alieen took one look at the pan and gasped.

"Le gasp! Hun, you are the chosen one!" She exclaimed, giving herself a wedgie. She then began to chant in a strange laungaue, all while re-fitting her hat with a "Sacred Diaper" forged of pudding skins and duct tape.

"...Uh...What the hell are you doing?" I asked, my annoyence rising with each passing second.

"I'm summoning my Master, Lord TSC."

"TSC? Who's he?" I asked as Alieen began to glow amazingly.

"Obee Whack-Shaminara Dingdong, habanero tooowee spiiiii Ceeee!!!!" Within seconds, Alieen vanished, and in her place, was a well dressed, handsome man with crisp golden locks and an angel's face.

"What. The. Hell?" I asked modestly, holding the frying pan up in defense.

"Greatings Chosen one. I am TSC, The Skillet Creator. That pan you now wield was made by me, the God of Cooking Utensils. I have waited fourteen decades, thriteen years, eleven months, ten weeks, nine days, five hours, three minutes and one second for your arrival chosen one. You will be the one to free the people of Dimension X from the egg overlords. What say you?"

A Non-Existent User
"Pass." I said to the surprise of the fruity looking diety before me. "Sorry, but there's omelettes to be made."

"You don't know how right you are, Chosen One." said the diety gravely. "For Dimension X is overrun with some of the foulest most hard-shelled egg-demons you could possible imagine."

I couldn't imagine anything but an angry Humpty Dumpty.

"Let me get this straight." I said in my best Columbo expression. "You want me to take this pan, travel to a hitherto unheard of dimension, face-off against some yolk-filled opressors and ultimately make omelettes of them all?"

"Yes, and time is short! We must hurry to the--"

"Pass." I said and left, pan in hand.

As I walked back through the bleak and depressing alleyways, I couln't stop thinking about they egg yolk-yellow tie the strange man had been wearing. I was also mildy interested in what he had had to say. Only mildly. But there was no way I was about to go off on an epic adventure without an omelette inside me.

I reached the flat in time to see my flatmate lose his grip on the windowl edge...

Thankfully, we had finally remember to take out the four months worth of trash we'd been collecting so he was barely even empaled on the fence post below.

"What the hell?" I screamed, running to his aid.

"It was the eggs!" he whimperered from beneath a mound of beer cans and noodle boxes. "They came alive and chased me round the flat! I got one trapped in the microwave, but the other five jumped me when my back was turned and threw me out of the window! Then I heard them talking. One - I think he was the leader, he was bigger and looked free-range - he was shouting orders at the other four. He said, ''It must be here, find it! And somebody get Alan out of the microwave!' It was awful!"

Suddenly, the scale of what the man of questionable sexual orientation ha said to me came crashing home.
One hour later...

"Run it past me again," the deity said, handing me a mug of coffee. My flatmate was already hunched over his own. Poor bloke, his knees were still knocking like a brass ring, but he managed to get about half the drink in his mouth so I suppose I oughta give him credit. The deity raised his eyebrows.

"That bad, eh?" he said.

"You don't know how," I said. "I got home and Derek was falling out of the window after being assaulted by five eggs. If that doesn't count as nasty then I don't know what does."

"Ahh..." the deity sighed, frowning. "I did warn you. If you would not go to Dimension X and fight the eggs, they would surely come here and fight YOU. 'Tis a sad, sad fate, my Chosen one." He punctuated his words with some serious shaking of the head. My stomach sank with every shake, coffee dropping till below sea level.

I groaned. "Why me?"

"You touched the True Pan! Your hands graced its silvery curves! Your eyes have beheld the balanced handle! And your scent has impermeated the non-stick coating! Truly, the pan is now a part of you, as you are now part of the pan."

I blinked. The deity chuckled. "Go on," he said. "Go on and ask the obvious question."

"Alright," I mumbled. "What do I have to do?"
"You will come with me into Dimension X. There, you will meet others who are fighting the good fight against the tyranny of the egg-people. You will then lead our army to glorious and delicious victory!"

"You're insane," I said aloud. "I don't know anything about war. And seriously, egg-people? This is all some REALLY weird dream."

"Don't worry Chosen One -"

"Stop calling me that! Look, the only reason I got this stupid thing was because I wanted to make an omelette and Derek broke our other frying pan in some fight with his crazy girlfriend."

Blatantly ignoring me, this deity opened up a portal and stepped towards it. Without a word, he grabbed my arm and flung me into the vortex. He also grabbed Derek's mattress and flipped him over, forcing him into the portal as well.

***********************************************************************************************
(Dimension X)

I opened my eyes, but everything was spinning, causing my head to ache. I shut my eyes and concentrated on what was going on at the moment. I tried to convince myself that this was, indeed, just a dream. I opened my eyes again. There were strangers standing all around me. Derek was unconscious, laying next to me. We were laying in a cold room made of stone. I noticed that the strangers were wearing armor similar to that of medieval knights, carrying a variety of weapons. Some were holding swords, others had bows strung across their backs. The wierdest sight though was that there were soldiers holding large, metal forks, spoons and kitchen knives. There were even a group of soldiers holding whisks.

"This is a joke, right?" I said, slowly getting to my feet. "We're going to fight using kitchen untensils." I noticed I was the only one with a frying pan. "Not very heroic. I'm a 'Chosen One' to lead an army into battle with a frying pan!?"

"Dude," Derek said, slowly getting into a seated position. "You realize that you will be the only hero in history to ever take a frying pan into battle."

"Ugh...Don't tell me you're buying into all this stuff," I groaned.

"You would too if you had been assaulted by breakfast people."
"WHO are you people and what are you doing in my realm univited?" Queen 'Spatula of the Egg-People asked imperiously. "We do not take kindly to unwanted, unannounced visitors in my lands".

"Yeah, well who the hell are YOU anyway?" the deity asked rudely.

"Sieze him." Queen 'Spatula told her henchmen, a small smile highlighting her face. "I will not tolerate this rudeness."
Her men sprang into action immediately, grabbing the deity by the arms.

"Hey! You can't do anything to me!" the diety cried out. "I'm a diety! I'll kill you all right now!"

"You just try your powers here, then, DIETY." Queen 'Spatula told him. "Your powers may be great where you come from, but in my lands, they are nothing. You will do well to remember that and not insult my honour in the future, DIETY." She nodded to her henchmen, who promtly began to drag him away.

"Now," she told the others. "You had better tell me what you are doing here and when you are going to leave."
"Well, you know, if it was my choice, I wouldn't be here in the first place," I said, hiding the frying pan behind my back. "Honest. Some weird guy--that deity over there--he shoved me through some sort of...warp? It's all HIS fault." I mustered the most winning smile I could.

It didn't seem to do much.

"Seize them!"

Drat.

"No! You can't!" I cried in a, so I hoped, appropriately menacing tone.

"Oh? And why can't I?" Queen 'Spatula smirked.

"Um..." I didn't really know why she couldn't. But fortunately, I didn't have to answer because I managed to drop the frying pan with a resounding clamor.

"The frying pan!" Queen 'Spatula gasped.

"That's right," I said, quickly picking up the dropped pan. "The Holy Frying Pan of Divine Retribution!" I waved it around over my head and was satisfied to hear gasps and see people shrink back from me. "Yeah!" I shouted. "Frying pan!"

Some of the peasants fell to their knees and bowed to me, murmuring, "Frying pan! Frying pan!" I nodded graciously to them.

But Queen Spatula wasn't buying it. "Harummph!" she said, her big jowls wobbling back and forth. Two of her henchmen helped her stand up. She must have weighed over a 100 kilograms. Her blubber shook as she raised her fists. "There is no Queen but the Spatula Queen! I am triumphant here. All bow to ME!"

I could see some of my peasant admirers were struggling to remain loyal to me. "Steady, boys," I said. "No need to fear the Fat Lady. It ain't over until she sings."

All this time I had been keeping a careful eye on the soldiers of knife, fork, spoon, and whisk. They were an unknown factor. Who would they support when the fire got hot?

I was suprised at the lack of power TSC, The Skillet Creator himself, had here in Dimension X. Now I saw why he recruited me to wield his Frying Pan. There must be some Dimensional Rule that prohibited skillet creators from wielding their own pans. Well, no time now to research the arcane rules of Dimension X. It was a time for action and results!

I carefully considered what to do next...
I was considering for quite some time. Luckily, the Queen wasn't as quick to take action as I had anticipated. She tried to arrange her half-awestruck soldiers into combat formations of questionable effectiveness. She had apparently never heard of a phalanx.

As this thought permeated my mind. I began to reach a place of inner peace. Don't ask me why or how--it comes and goes now and then. Anyway, though, my surroundings went blurry and time seemed to slow. It was like being lifted out of a swimming pool--of war--and being breathed into--with life--and oxygen--in a figurative way--but also a real way.

And what's this? The sweetest resonance of musical notes floated into my ears and through my being. There were five distinct sounds being repeated until finally, a seraphic being materialized in front of me. He was slowly and sequentially rapping his knuckles on five variously shaped pans. A wonder.

"Who the frick are you?" I called, reverently.

"I am Pentatonic."
"Yes, I can hear that, but WHO are you?"
"I am...Pentatonic."
"You said that. What I'm trying to figure out is..."
"Just FIGHT, you idiot!!!"

And with that, the vision dissipated. I was encouraged, and I knew that this beneficent being would return--intermittently--at strategic points in my journey...

© Copyright 2008 'Rav - Overflooding..., Steev the Friction Wizurd, pentatonic, TSC, xx-xx, Summer... who's she again?, 'Ropa, ⭐Princette♥Pengthulu, (known as GROUP).
All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1485617