“What passes for hip cynical transcendence of sentiment is really some kind of fear of being really human, since to be really human [...] is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naïve and goo-prone and generally pathetic.”

― David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

Dear friends, welcome to the weekly fiction contest where you can earn a minimum of 3 @steembasicincome shares by finishing my short story!

Today's one will be inspired by a random word taken from Infinite Jest, an American literary bestseller which I strongly recommend you, whose universe will both amaze and destabilise you at the same time. Today's seed-word for my beginning is "transcendence".

For those that want to give it a try, here is how this contest works:

1. I write an unfinished fiction story

2. You finish it with a comment in the comment section (relax..no long stuff needed!)

3. I will donate at least 3 @steembasicincome share to one writer with the most interesting ending (I'm the unquestionable judge. Well, technically not me.. the bananafish voices within my head are).

Nothing is mandatory here (but voting is highly appreciated)..Just enjoy and prepare for a trip into my delirious fiction world!

Here's my part of the novel: "Sourdough"

Since the death of his parents, aunt's house had become his refuge, an outpost before the abyss of pain that had suddenly opened before him. Theodore used to live by himself even before the incident, but had slowly resumed visiting the home of she who, during his childhood, had been for him as a second mother. The visits of Aunt Agnes's house had allowed him, during those long days of pain, to maintain a subtle contact with reality. The three young cousins, always ready to fight with each other, the beagle Boufry, perpetually agitated and jumpy, the gruff uncle: that place resembled a fat boiling and mumbling pot. At the same time, with its placid and almost banal daily life, that home was a balm for his soul.
As the months wore on, her aunt's small, thoughtful gestures helped him remember that he could smile for some freshly baked scented bread.
Aunt was very skilled in her new passion: the use of sourdough to bake buns, croissants and bread, lots of bread of all varieties.
Every time Theo went to visit the house, almost at the same time as the festive rush of the little Boufry, he was greeted by an inviting fragrance of savory buns or other bakery products, depending on the time of day. Aunt Agnes was improving fast and would already easily convert an hermit to the pleasures of good food, thanks to her culinary skills. Needless to say that the delicious food, baked thanks to the prodigious and decanted sourdough, was never enough to feed the insatiable mouths of the terrible cousins.
In recent weeks, the house had emptied for several reasons. On the other hand, it was understandable that the boys, now in their twenties, kicked for their independence: the less they were with their parents the better they felt. Even his uncle was rarely seen around, but this meant only a little more attention from the aunt and more chance to taste now the delicious hot and creamed croissants for breakfast, now the inviting rosemary focaccias for lunch or dinner time.
With aunt, Theo used to talk about everything, even though now he too often found himself in conversations about the many qualities of yeast. Poor woman, after all, she deserved a little attention, she who did everything for the others while the rest of the family seemed more and more to live in a hotel where you can return, from time to time, for a change of clothes and a good meal.
On that September day, the house was even quieter than in the past weeks. As he passed through the gate, Theodore prepared himself as usual to dodge the muddy paws of the dog but he noticed Boufry's unusual absence. However, there was that unmistakable scent, which instinctively painted a smile on his face.
"This time we ambush the aunt!", he thought as he walked the pavement around the house, jokingly preparing to enter the house directly from the back, through the kitchen's door.
However, his playful expression soon died in his face when he was gradually shown through the kitchen door's glass the scene of Aunt Agnes, standing in front of the open refrigerator, arms long at the sides.
She had not seen him coming, and how could she in that state? She seemed to be in a hypnotic trance and her eyes were both bulging and absent. Her aunt's lips seemed to utter a litany, while her face was ominously illuminated by the cold light of the fridge. Theodore silently approached closer, now able to add surreal and disturbing details to the scene: the aunt, lost in her alien transcendence, mechanically whispered a sentence.

"The wise use of sourdough creates the conditions in the art of baking for an optimal family fermentation".

From the new angle, Theodore could see the fridge filled with jars overflowing with sourdough.

Reassuring, isn't it? I already have the ending in my mind, but I'm curious of your development! This week there will be 1 round, this one, but with a bigger pot. The result will be out on Monday 19th March, 11 pm, UTC +1 (i.e. California is UTC -8). There will be more time for everyone to develop the fiction idea.

This time, the winner will get at least 3 SBI shares!

If you like this contest..SPREAD THE GOSPEL! I'm grateful for your resteeming and word of mouth. Please keep it up as I'm just a minnow like you with enthusiasm and passion for writing and making friends :-D