Bake It Until You Fake It

Randall liked desserts. So much so, he learned how to bake from an early age. When he was nine, he created a plum cobbler that one first prize at the county fair. From that point on, he was destined to be a pastry chef.

When he was older, and old enough to work and start a business, he and his kitchen were virtually inseparable. There were even some nights he slept there, in case he was inspired in a dream with a new recipe, or a new twist on and old favorite. He loved his work, and it showed.

His bakery shop won numerous awards. Customers loved his creations, and business boomed. He became world renowned, the baker to celebrities and dignitaries. Anyone who was anyone wanted him to cater the desserts for their party or gathering.

Then, it happened. Literally.

Technology, it turned out, was forever advancing, and while Randall kept up on all the latest breakthroughs in food related technologies and gastronomical delicacies, he was caught completely unawares by what was happening in holography.

Life like images were the first to stun crowds in packed stadiums, bringing dead artists to life, but as time went on, these photonic images became more and more sophisticated, until they were not only photo-realistic replicas of humanity, they could also interact with the real world.

Before Randall knew it, at the pinnacle of his career, the world fell out of love with his delectable creations. Virtually overnight, he was replaced by a digital human called Kristoff, and that as they say, was that.

The creators of Kristoff had downloaded the sum knowledge of every chef who had ever lived, including Randall, into Kristoff's database. Within minutes of that, it was creating the most succulent, sumptuous, finger licking good versions of every food known to man. Including desserts.

Plus, Kristoff was cheaper. And the hologram was everywhere. Within a couple of years, it was in every mall, along with its digital assistants, serving up whatever anyone could ever want. A few diehard fans kept Randall in business, but after a time, he could see the writing on the wall. The domination of the organically born human was passing. He was obsolete.

So, without much adieu, as was his way, Randall closed the bakery, the one true love of his life.

Fortunately, Randall had always been prudent with his money, and while he enjoyed being the center of attention, he had not let fame and fortune go to his head. His modest estate was paid for, so he didn't have to worry about that. He had enough residual income from different sources to keep him going. There was no reason for him to sleep in the alley behind his old bakery night after night.

But he did.

After all, who would look after the rat which came around in his first months as pastry chef and then kept coming back for more? The rat, after all, was one of his first customers and critics, and perhaps the most loyal among them all. Randall couldn't just leave the rodent to its own devices. And since the humans no longer had need of him, Randall had no problem continuing to use his furry friend as a "guinea pig" for the latest recipes and new twists that still came to him in dreams.

One night, the rat was not there. Sometimes it would show up later than normal, but darkness deepened for hours, and then slowly became light again, and not a sign of the rat. Randall went home, got some rest, showered, ate and created another masterpiece to test later that night. Again, the rat did not appear.

For days Randall kept on, baking, waiting, and then trundling off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Finally, after weeks, he decided that either his rodent friend had moved on to something else it liked more, or it had died. Rats, after all, didn't have so many options from which to choose from.

Randall lived for a couple of dozen years, continuing to bake and to innovate, but now, just for family and a few intimate friends. When he died, only those few showed to pay their respects. The world, after all, didn't know he had passed.

Randall came to the conclusion shortly after he closed shop that if you couldn't beat them, join them. He sued for the right to have his recipes and new twists removed from Kristoff's repertoire, and he had a digital version of himself created. Within years, it was in every mall and shopping plaza around the world. Whole generations grew up never really knowing that a real Randall the Master Pastry Chef, had ever lived.

On his memorial in a private cemetery on a hill in Austria it is written:

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!

Unless it is to trounce the fake, the tricks of light that cannot bake.

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_{Images source—Pixabay}

This post is part of the daily five minute freewrite hosted by @mariannewest. Five previously unused word prompts are sprinkled throughout the story and can be found in italics.

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