This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Dangerous-Cap9018 on 2024-10-26 13:41:30+00:00.

Today is my birthday, it’s my favorite day of the year. When I was younger, my mother used to wake me up with breakfast in bed. All of my favorites, bacon, eggs, and French toast. All for me, all for my birthday. My mother was a wonderful cook , she had such a gift in the kitchen. I hoped I might find a woman like her one day. One gifted with skill in the kitchen so that my birthday could continue to be the best day ever.

Today is my birthday, and there is no breakfast in bed for me. A shame really, but I expected it. When I was younger, my mother used to bake me a cake, a specific kind. A lush delicious chocolate cake that melted in my mouth. The buttercream frosting whipped to perfection . I often dreamed that I would find a woman that would bake a cake as good as my mother.

Today is my birthday and I am sitting at the dining room table. I can hear shuffling from the other room, quiet sobs. I wish she wouldn’t cry like that, but I dare not speak that wish aloud. I also shouldn’t waste it. After all, I only get one wish on my birthday. And it’s been the same every year.

Today is my birthday, and my mother shuffles herself from the kitchen finally. She slowed down in her old age, the flesh peeling from her body. Bones starting to show as the decay eats away at her every year. Her faces mummified to her skull. Eyes sunken in so deep they may as well not even be there. her frail bony fingers are wrapped around the tray with the beautiful chocolate cake covered in perfectly whipped buttercream ice cream. There are now 48 candles in the cake. The sight of them covering most of it makes me chuckle. Could I really be so old?

Today is my birthday, and as my mother sets down the cake, another clump of hair falls from her head along with a piece of rotting flesh. I used to be disgusted by the rotting smell that came from her body but now I’ve gotten used to it. It’s like a part of her, a part of my birthday. I wait patiently for her to start singing a sadness in those half gone eyes tells me she knows what I’m waiting for. Her voice is hardly a whisper as she begins to mumble out the words between broken and rotting teeth. Her tongue is shriveled, making some of the words even harder to say mouth so dry. I swear I hear the gums cracking.

Today is my birthday and as my mother finishes my birthday song, she looks at me with that pleading expression she’s had since she’s died, Or at least since she should have died. But I couldn’t have that on my birthday. Which is why I used my birthday wish to make sure my mother could be around forever.

Today is my birthday and I wish again for my mother to continue to live. After all what other woman could compared to my mother.