Dear Lost Forks,
I’d like to begin by thanking you for your vital, if short-lived, service. Over the past few months, you have done important work in aid of my taste buds and my stomach. You helped me to shovel pasta into my mouth at a rate that is almost superhuman. You allowed me to mash avocado onto toast so beautifully that my Instagram followers were driven wild. You even helped me to tackle the ring pulls on my Diet Cokes when I was afraid of breaking a nail, a task that is far beyond your intended role.
I know that I haven’t always been kind. Many a time I woke you from your slumber in the cutlery drawer, only for you to lay idle beside my plate as I threw my manners out the window and ate my food with my hands. You didn’t pass judgement on this lewd behaviour of mine, even when I ate so viciously that you were splattered with sauce and crumbs like mere placemats. Following this, and to my shame, I would simply mark you as ‘unused’ and replace you, unwashed, in the cutlery drawer.
Without a doubt, it is antics of this nature which have forced you to leave without saying goodbye…
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Yeah, I’m writing on Medium! I’m hoping to post one new post -either fiction or silly non-fiction such as this – each week, so be sure to Follow me if you’re a Medium member. I’m looking forward to connecting with more people over there, too, so let me know if you’re a Medium writer.
“The soup’s too thin!” the head chef squawked, over and over until the junior chef thought she could take it no more.
She’d done her best. She’d tried to reduce it. She’d tried adding cornflour. She’d tried dolloping in cream. And still the meat soup didn’t live up to the head chef’s standards. Continue reading “Soup | Microfiction”
“I’m the most vital ingredient in this dish.”
“Rubbish!” cried Tom. “I’m a beef tomato. Like, the king of tomatoes.”
“You’re just the fat tomato,” sneered Moz, “that’s all. Meanwhile, I’m buffalo mozzarella. Buffalo beats cow any day.” Continue reading “Food Poisoning | Microfiction”
John lets himself through his front door, tosses his key on the hallway table, and nudges the door shut behind him with his heel.
“I’m back!” he yells into the house.
His wife’s head pops out of the living room doorway. She screams. Continue reading “Just Popped Out | Flash Fiction”
“Stop running around like a blue-arsed fly and sit down on the blanket!”
The child froze, then turned to his mother and pouted. “But I’m bored.”
“I’m bored of your whinging.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“So sit on the blanket and eat some berries.” His mother raised her brows to let the child know that there would be dire consequences if he disobeyed. Continue reading “Today’s The Day”
“So, we’ve tenderized the meat, we’ve smothered it in a delicious coating of egg, flour, and breadcrumbs – seasoned to perfection, I might add – so what’s next?”
The audience remained quiet. The chef waited a few moments to allow them to marinate in their own silence, hoping they would realise how disrespectful they were being. Continue reading “Schnitzel”