How it evolved

Clock: Roughly 18:00. My next housewarming party.

As always, I was slightly behind on cleaning, so I met my guests at the door on my way to take out the trash. They stopped me—told me to close my eyes.

I handed my keys to Tori and said, “It’s a blue one.” Confusion flickered across their faces, a hint of panic. Which blue? There were two blue keys. I left them to figure it out and continued with the trash.

When I returned, I stumbled upon some sort of ritual, their energy almost reverent. And then came the reveal—the makaroni.

A box that once held a LEGO Star Wars ship, now packed full of makaroni. “Seventy packages,” they declared. Twenty-eight kilograms.

I was baffled. Proud, somehow—but also dying inside. Because I wasn’t even done with the previous makaroni yet. When I moved, I still had ten packages left to transfer from my old apartment to the new one.

And now? Now, I had this massive pile of makaroni.

Days blurred together. Then, at some point—I don’t even remember when—I overheard a conversation. One of my friends (Tori or River, I think) said with a knowing tone:

“We will have to be cautious about where we find makaroni.”

And indeed—they must be cautious.

Because as long as this blog exists, somewhere, out there, makaroni waits. Waiting to be delivered. Waiting to deceive. Waiting to be forced upon them.

That is the word I give you all.