Friday, June 6, 2014
Veering from my regular commentary on the weirdness of life; here’s a longer flash fiction piece for your Friday. If you are about to eat cake, I suggest you wait until you’re done to read this. I’ve already put one person off cake with this story. –Ceil
The refrain of the birthday song was wobbly and askew; young and old crowded the table of Tommy Hinterforce, now aged 9, as he thought earnestly about his wish. He blew air and jots of spittle over the field of buttercream and extinguished 10 candles (one for good luck). Janet Hinterforce, eager for the company to be gone, hurried to his side and began cutting slices. It was after she’d cut the fourth one and lifted it onto a plate that a severed finger rolled out of what was to be the next piece, intended for Jeremy Thussleman, a loud child with early onset body odor.
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