Fortune Cookie Macabre
Fortune Cookie Macabre
After finishing overcooked duck,
roasted pork spit grilled by spit,
I overjoyed in the realization that
the meal was near over. On my
plate, near the bill and my worn,
beaten greenbacks, I saw it.
Some sorcery and it had appeared
right on the plate. A graying thing
with fuzz on one side. The thin crack
between the two fingers a pinked rut.
The copious MSG from my meal
had left me dizzied, I thought it moved.
I grabbed it quickly. I wanted to ensure
that I had not wasted food for "starving
children in China", and this was last.
A mission not yet complete. But what I
felt in my hand was a soft mess,
a soft cookie fuzzy with a hairy coat.
I grasped both sides and turned my
nauseated mouth from it. My hands
grasped at it. Pulled with effort. It
would not crack with my force. It
would not crack. In anger and sheer
desperation, I took it to the table.
Smashed it repeatedly. Something
about the feel and the sound. The
dull thud. But I had to. So I kept on
wickedly swinging it into the wooden
table face. Finally I felt it give. The
crack pierced with a high scream.
Split in half, screaming. Where is
the mouth, I wondered for seconds.
Then I saw the truth. In my hands
half of the cookie slowly sprayed a
liquid reminding me of the blood that
coated the tasteless duck I'd eaten.
Except it was dark, hot, and pulsating
and the grounded full ponds grew.
The other half, left on the table shrieked
again and again, sickly twisting from side
to side, a screaming, dying Herring. I looked
back towards my hand and saw tears.
Around me, horrified sobs, screaming
around me I saw, having taken a quick
peek, quickly returning to my red hand.
My tears had begun to coat the gray cookie
half, the bursting red jaunt at a head
The diluted concoction sweeping the floor.
I took one last look at the cookie, and suddenly
saw a flash of papery whites. The fortune,
I realized. "Good fortune will come to those
who wait", it read. And I combined the blood
and my tears with spit and duck. Then, knowing,
I grabbed both cookie halves and swallowed.
Note: I do like how this turned out. Every time I look at a fortune cookie, I think of it being something alive. The color of the cookie is always a golden color that reminds me of skin. The insides always darkened. The mysterious heart a piece of cheap paper. I didn't really have an intent in what I was portraying the cookie to represent, just wanted something a bit obscene and unsettling.
After finishing overcooked duck,
roasted pork spit grilled by spit,
I overjoyed in the realization that
the meal was near over. On my
plate, near the bill and my worn,
beaten greenbacks, I saw it.
Some sorcery and it had appeared
right on the plate. A graying thing
with fuzz on one side. The thin crack
between the two fingers a pinked rut.
The copious MSG from my meal
had left me dizzied, I thought it moved.
I grabbed it quickly. I wanted to ensure
that I had not wasted food for "starving
children in China", and this was last.
A mission not yet complete. But what I
felt in my hand was a soft mess,
a soft cookie fuzzy with a hairy coat.
I grasped both sides and turned my
nauseated mouth from it. My hands
grasped at it. Pulled with effort. It
would not crack with my force. It
would not crack. In anger and sheer
desperation, I took it to the table.
Smashed it repeatedly. Something
about the feel and the sound. The
dull thud. But I had to. So I kept on
wickedly swinging it into the wooden
table face. Finally I felt it give. The
crack pierced with a high scream.
Split in half, screaming. Where is
the mouth, I wondered for seconds.
Then I saw the truth. In my hands
half of the cookie slowly sprayed a
liquid reminding me of the blood that
coated the tasteless duck I'd eaten.
Except it was dark, hot, and pulsating
and the grounded full ponds grew.
The other half, left on the table shrieked
again and again, sickly twisting from side
to side, a screaming, dying Herring. I looked
back towards my hand and saw tears.
Around me, horrified sobs, screaming
around me I saw, having taken a quick
peek, quickly returning to my red hand.
My tears had begun to coat the gray cookie
half, the bursting red jaunt at a head
The diluted concoction sweeping the floor.
I took one last look at the cookie, and suddenly
saw a flash of papery whites. The fortune,
I realized. "Good fortune will come to those
who wait", it read. And I combined the blood
and my tears with spit and duck. Then, knowing,
I grabbed both cookie halves and swallowed.
Note: I do like how this turned out. Every time I look at a fortune cookie, I think of it being something alive. The color of the cookie is always a golden color that reminds me of skin. The insides always darkened. The mysterious heart a piece of cheap paper. I didn't really have an intent in what I was portraying the cookie to represent, just wanted something a bit obscene and unsettling.
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