Home » Diary » SWEET CAKES – Narative text

SWEET CAKES – Narative text

Sweet Cakes

There once was a little cottage on the edge of the wood, in which a little old woman lived. One day she said to herself, “I will bake some sweet cakes for my dinner.”

She put on a fresh white apron to keep her nice black dress clean. Over her head she pulled a little red cap to keep her hair tidy. It was chilly in the kitchen so she threw a little white cape around her shoulders. Then, the little old woman was all ready to make her cakes.

She took a blue bowl down from the shelf. Into it she put eggs from the cupboard, sugar from the bucket, milk from the pan, flour from the barrel and raisins from the jar. She mixed up all these good things. Then, she rolled out the dough and popped a panful of cakes into the oven. They came out nice and brown and sweet smelling.

A poor old man was passing by. The cakes smelled good to him for he was very hungry. He looked in at the door of the cottage and said to the old woman, “Won’t you please give me one of your good cakes? I am very hungry.” The old woman said, “I will bake one cake for you. I cannot give you one of these.”

She cut off a tiny piece of dough. She rolled and rolled it with her rolling-pin. Then, she patted and patted it with her hands and shaped it into a tiny cake.

Then, something very strange happened. The tiny cake began to grow bigger and bigger.

“I can’t give you this cake,” said the little old woman to the poor old man. “It is much too big. I will make you a smaller one.”

Then, she put the cake into the oven and baked it for herself.

She took another piece of dough, smaller than the first piece. She rolled and rolled it with her rolling-pin. She patted and patted it with her hands and shaped it into a very tiny cake.

Again something strange happened. The tiny cake began to grow bigger and bigger.

“I cannot give you this cake,” said the little old woman. “It is much too big. I will make you a smaller one.” So he put the cake into the oven and baked it for herself.

Then, she took a tiny scrap of dough, no bigger than a grain of wheat. She rolled it and rolled it with her rolling-pin. She patted and patted it with her hands and shaped it into the tiniest of cakes.

She still wore her little red cap on her head. She still wore her black dress and her little white cape and her white apron. But they had all turned into feathers. She wasn’t a little old woman at all. She had turned into a bird!

story : By Aizyah Rizqi Fajriyah

 

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