The poor watched from the outside, face pressed against the bars to watch the feast on the other side of the wall.
Inside, the table groaned under the weight of all the food. The guests ate carelessly, tossing leftovers to the floor as they reached for more food.
Eventually, the feast ended, and the guests left to make way for a second feast. The doors, previously kept shut, now opened for the poor to flood in. In their hunger, they threw their pride aside and ate every crumb off every surface, cleaning the hall more thoroughly and quickly than the servants could.
Unnoticed, the young prince watched the madness they called the ‘feast of crumbs’, hands clenched against his thighs. A thought burned in his heart.
When I am king, things will be different.
Genre: slice of life, spiritual
For one night, the church was transformed into a glorious food market. Stalls of homemade cuisines from all over the world filled the space, gathered for the sake of raising funds to support those making a difference in other countries and the local community.
All the stalls had prominent banners and price tags, except one. Simple, slightly burnt cookies sat price-less on the table as a group of four stood behind.
“How much are these?” people asked.
“As much as you want to contribute to saving lives,” they answered.
Some gave little, some gave much. They carefully collected the money in a little box.
Once, they were broken people trapped in a lonely life going nowhere. Then a group of strangers stepped into their lives and saved them from themselves. The cookies weren’t much, but it was their way of returning the favour.
He squeezed the limb, making the blood inside ooze out.
“Changed your mind?” he asked as he waved the limb at his target, who looked seconds away from crying.
A hand slapped the back of his head.
“Stop bullying your sister and eat.”
His lips twisted. “Cheh.”
He bit into the drumstick and looked at his sister as he tore a chunk out with his teeth. His sister finally burst into tears.
He fled the table before his mother whacked him with a dictionary.
“It wasn’t me,” he protested.
She pointed at the glaring icing remnants around his mouth. “Then what’s that?”
“Blood. Your real culprit is over there.” He pointed to a boy with a streak of brown at the corner of his mouth and crumbs all over his clothes.
“Oh. Then, what’s with the blood?”
He shuffled under her gaze.
“I… had a messy meal?”
“What are you? A vampire?”
He choke-laughed. “Of course not. Vampires aren’t real, right?”
He smiled, showing his even canines that almost shone in the sunlight.
“Right,” she agreed.
Genre: humour, slice of life
She handed him a mug.
“New recipe. What do you think?”
He swirled the slightly viscous liquid and took a whiff. Chocolate, and something else. He took a mouthful.
“What is this?” He grabbed his water.
“Chilli chocolate. You don’t like it?”
“Thanks. I’ll try again. Be back a sec,” she dashed off.
He threw his things into his bag.
No way was he staying for round two.
~Continue the story in Round Two~
Genre: slice of life
Savor: taste (good food or drink) and enjoy it to the full.
Deep, red strawberries. Pure white cream. Beautifully golden body. The cheesecake was picture worthy just as it was.
The fork dug easily into the cake all the way through the biscuit base. One bite, and it was gone. The cheese melted easily on the tongue, refreshingly sour from the lemon but also light from the cream, topped with the crunch from the delightfully creamy base.
The next mouthful had the strawberry. Its sweet-sourness mingled with the rest of the cake for a flavour party in the mouth.
A third scoop picked up the rest of the little piece of heaven. It disappeared way too quickly, like frost in the sun, leaving only its sweet-sour memory behind.
The now empty plate joined the stack of three others.
Genre: family, slice of life
As one, the two brothers stabbed the same cake with their fork. The sister quietly reached for the other cake and cut it with her fork.
“Mine,” the brothers snarled. Invisible sparks flew between their eyes, both unwilling to back down.
Unnoticed, the sister pulled their forks out of the poor, mangled cake and dug in with her own. Once done, she distributed the cakes, each sliced into three portions, evenly among them.
“Let’s eat,” she said.
The brothers snapped out of their wordless fight. Only then did they notice what had happened to the cakes.
“That’s why I like you best,” the older brother said.
“Hey! That’s my line.”
The sister ignored them and ate her cake.
It was just another day with her brothers.
Genre: slice of life
“Does it look a little pink to you?”
“Looks perfectly fine to me.”
“Then you eat it.”
“No way! I mean… she made it for you. You eat it.”
“You can have it.”
“I don’t want to die.”
A third voice cut in. “What’s wrong?”
They looked at the chef.
“N… nothing’s wrong.”
“Is it because there’s only one? I’ll fix that.”
She cut the steak in half with one slice.
“Problem solved.” She sent them a deadly smile. “Anything else?”
Fearing for their lives, they frantically dug into the practically raw meat.
My response to the prompt mope.
Genre: slice of life, general, family
~Triple Dose of Moping~
Her son moped in the corner of the sofa, her daughter moped at the foot of the stairs, her husband moped at the table.
She was only gone for two days. What happened?
All three gave the same response.
“We dropped your macaroons.”
“I’ll make another batch. Help me and it’ll be done sooner.”
They jumped to their feet and rushed into the kitchen.
It was only macaroons, but if it made them happy, she could put off her rest a for bit.
My response to the prompt ‘radical‘.
The restaurant they were in, though hidden in between two factories, was packed full of people. Some even had to wait in line for almost half an hour before getting a seat.
Why the popularity?
The answer was in their one-of-a-kind menu, which presented patrons with choices like inside-out sandwich, meatball smoothie, and roast beef ice-cream.
His friend called it ‘radical food’, he thought it was just a gimmick. At the end of the day, food was food, no matter how ‘radical’ it looked.
“Ready to order?” the waitress asked.
His friend ordered salted chocolate lamb with a side of grape chips. He got the chicken in stuffing and potato thickshake.
“This better be good,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I tested every single recipe before putting it on the menu. Everything’s awesome,” his friend said.
“You know me. Everything I make tastes great. Don’t pretend it tastes bad just so you can win the bet.”
“It’s only ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars was big back in college.”
“We’re not in college anymore. But if it helps.” He placed the ten dollar bill on the table. “There it is.”
His friend pocketed the money.
“Hey. You haven’t won yet,” he reminded his friend.
“Don’t worry. I will.”
And his friend did. He, on the other hand, craved for potato thickshakes for weeks.