Prompt Work

The first thing she did was put her face in the plate to smell it. Anywhere else I would have been appalled of course, but I'm sure odor was the preeminent way of determining how much of it she dare put in her rumbling belly.

She looked surprised as the scent of it registered, but didn't smile. Nor did she look at us. At this point she was wholly involved in the round flat circle of bread before her and it must have seemed a luxury just to have the time to examine it without worrying that it would be ripped from her hand by someone else intent on having a bite.

Her small bent index finger inched forward and touched it right in the middle where it gave under the slight pressure and sprang back when she lifted her finger. Convinced that it wasn't too hot, she put her hand flat on the top of it. Gary reached forward to pull her hand away, but I caught his wrist and winked at him. "Let her explore," I said with my eyes, and as was his gift he understood and let her be. I was thankful I had the forsight not to drown it in butter and syrup first. But I was pretty sure she was used to eating with her hands when she could find something edible.

When she picked it up, she bit it hard even though it flapped in her hand. Being light and easy to eat the morsel dissolved in a flash--sooner than she wanted it to be gone. Curious, she turned the rest of it over in her hand, looking at the different texture of the underside and touching it once again to be sure it was something of substance. The next bite she took was smaller, chewed delicately and this time she enjoyed the flavor of it with her eyes closed and the rest of it squished in a death grip. It wasn't until the last bite was thoroughly enjoyed that she finally looked up at us and smiled. It was sheer joy for me to watch her eyes widen and water when I put another on her plate.

Prompt: Write a scene in which a refugee child eats pancakes for the first time.