I stared down at the jar of jam. Red, jelly like, crystalline. I reached out and shook the jar of jam, looking at the jam wiggle. I impaled the knife into the bottle of jam. The jam easily gave way, not bothered by the intrusion of a foreign object. Maybe we should be like the jam.
The whole meal bread still lay on the plate yet to be painted by jam. The knife still, unmoved, almost seemingly stuck.

Daddy used to bring little sister and I out for picnics. I just love how Daddy brings us out to do something fun. And its amazing how every time He brings us out, it doesnt rain, the clouds are fluffy, the sky is well...sky blue. We did this every alternate week for one whole year. I was five, and little sister was three.

We always went back to the same shady place, a five minutes walk from home, down that dusty road, swerve into a smaller right lane, and we will find ourselves this big oak tree. Its branches stretch far out wide, standing alone in this big field of green. I am sure it loves our company, and the big oak tree smiled every time he saw us approaching from a distance when the right lane ends. I actually wonder if the oak tree ever felt lonely when we werent sitting there on Saturday afternoons.

Once, when we were out for picnic, Daddy decided to bring one more extra bottle of jam.
Dad, why the extra bottle of jam?
You will see, Son
Little sister said something, I didnt hear because my eyes were glued to the extra bottle of jam. Somehow it just felt...uncomfortable to see an extra bottle of jam in the picnic basket.

We ate our usual share, stared at the sky, and watch the clouds go by. The breeze blew, and as time passed we ran out of bread. I stared inside the picnic basket and found that extra bottle of jam there, untouched.

Daddy, no more bread.
What do you think we should do, my princess?
Little sister picked up the bottle of jam and unscrewed the cap, pick up a fork and stuff it in.
She proceeds to stick half the fork into her mouth. Some jam fell onto her shirt.
Daddy, we can do that?
Son, no one said you can't.

Excitement rushed through me as I applied this new found technique. I stick the fork in, pull it out, shove it straight into my mouth. Oh that glorious taste, of pure jam, so sweet. It was absolutely awesome. Especially when the jam just melted inside my mouth. I was on a rush. Hungry for more of this ecstasy. A tinge of impatience creep in when little sister took her time to carefully lift out her fork from the jam bottle.

Little sister and I took turn to stick the forks into the jam bottle.
That day we finished two bottles of jam, instead of one. And well, the sky...somehow had a deeper blue to it. And everything felt sweet that day.

I stared back at the bottle of jam lying before me. I did a quick paint of jam over the piece of whole meal bread, and left for school.