This post is part of Writer’s Digest February Flash Fiction Challenge. Flash Fiction is a short, often under 1,000 words, style of writing. I hope you enjoy my 28 contributions!
Day 12 Prompt: Food Your Character Hates
Like most kids, Devin hated vegetables. Carrots? Gross. Broccoli? Disgusting. Onions? Ew.
His parents knew about this unfortunate truth, so they tried to introduce alternative options into his diet. They would disguise certain produce in his meals by pureeing them into hardly noticeable soups or spreads, but his keen distaste for all things vegetables saw right through their useless ploys. With a dramatic display of gags and other revolting sounds, Devin would simply push his plate away and cross his arms with a stony refusal. Eventually, his parents settled on the hope that he would grow to accept vegetables as a part of his regular diet and resolved to quit forcing it.
But all that would soon change.
One hot summer afternoon, Devin was at his neighbor Alex’s house. They had spent hours up on Alex’s hillside playing with camouflaged army figurines and a collection of plastic trucks, helicopters, and jets. At some point, Alex’s mom shouted out the back door, “Dinner in a half hour!”
Alex looked at Devin and, like all adolescents who fail to consider their family’s dinner plans, asked if he wanted to stay. After accepting the invite, Alex yelled back to his mom, “Can Devin eat with us?”
If only Devin knew.
Sitting around the table with Alex’s sister and father, Devin and Alex continued their battles with a few surviving army figurines while they waited for Alex’s mom to serve dinner. “Put those things away – no playing at the table.” Alex’s mom came around the corner holding two large serving dishes, both steaming with a scent only somewhat recognizable to Devin. As she set the dishes down on the center of the table and Devin could finally see their contents, his heart leaped into his throat: charred broccoli and garlic mashed potatoes.
Devin had figured out the riddle of mashed potatoes only a few months earlier. He knew that they were basically just crushed McDonald’s french fries, but what was this garlic thing mixed in there? And Broccoli? Even under the worst of circumstances, Broccoli was the more torturous of all vegetables. Alex’s mom returned to the kitchen and reemerged with two more steaming dishes. Devin’s hopes were not high. She set down a dish of steamed carrots – nasty – and, if by some miracle, chicken.
“Honey, grab some veggies to have with your chicken.” Alex’s mom was looking at Devin’s plate which, besides half a chicken breast, was empty.
Devin’s stomach turned and he was beginning to feel hot with pressure. He looked around the table and noticed both Alex and his sister were digging through mounds of greens and oranges and pale whites. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the precursor, he knew, to gagging. He reached for the mashed potatoes and took such a small dollop that Alex called out, “That’s it?”
Steeling himself, Devin dipped his spoon into the mushy mixture and closed his eyes, chanting “french fries, french fries, french fries” in his head. Almost as quickly as the potatoes touched his tongue did he swallow forcefully, avoiding any potential lingering of the vegetable in his mouth. He smacked his lips curiously, savoring the aftertaste and… enjoying it? He tried a second tiny spoonful to ensure his conclusion was correct. It was. In his head, Devin victoriously declared that he liked mashed up McDonald’s french fries.
He repeated this ritual with the steamed carrots. Judging by the way Alex’s sister was scarfing them down, they had to be good. Devin picked up a solitary carrot from the serving dish and moved it to his plate before cutting it into even smaller pieces. He took a deep breath and again closed his eyes, putting a piece of the vegetable in his mouth and swallowing without a single bite. Before long the entire carrot was gone, the sweet, earthy juices warming his mouth. He liked carrots!
There was only one dish left to try and again, the hot, stomach turning pressure returned. Devin looked at the dish full of broccoli and studied the charred, green branches. He could hear his mother’s words “it’s like eating a tiny tree!” and recalled his disgusted retort “I don’t want to eat a tree!” He again closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and placed one tiny branch in his mouth and swallowed. He smacked his tongue around, analyzing the aftertaste. He put his fork down and stared at his plate, quelling the heaviness of a forming gag reflex in his throat.
“You don’t like broccoli?” Alex asked, noticing Devin’s abandoned fork.
In a small voice, he responded, “Not really, no.”
“That’s ok, I hate it.”
Devin glanced at Alex’s plate and realized there was no evidence of broccoli ever having been on it. Relieved, Devin leaned forward and took another spoonful of garlic mashed potatoes and a few carrots.
