Super Short Story - The Restaurant by L. A. Keller
When presented with the following scenario I had to create a super short story. Here's what developed.
After arriving at your favorite lunch destination and eating your favorite meal, your waitress rushes to your table. She looks panicked. She grabs you and looks into your eyes, but doesn't say anything. finally she turns toward the wait staff, who are gathered just outside the kitchen and...
"Someone call 911," she shrieked.
I glanced nervously at the other diners. Why was the server causing such a scene? I never complained about my food, even when my order was wrong and the chef put tomatoes on my sandwich. I dislike tomatoes. They make the bread mushy and invariably I get a tiny little seed stuck in my teeth that no one bothers to tell me about.
The couple at the table to my right jumped up and ran for the door. The man seated on my left sat, mouth agape food dribbling down his chin. The child who had screeched through my entire meal was finally silent.
I tried to stand, to shake her grip off my arms but my body refused to cooperate. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her to leave me be but I could make no sound.
The chef dashed from the kitchen, fire extinguisher in hand. Someone threw me to the floor and rolled my body in a tablecloth. The smell of burnt meat assailed my nostrils. I couldn't breathe through the heavy fabric of the cloth.
"Someone help me!" I screamed.
I heard my husband's voice call to me from what seemed like a great distance. "Honey, blow out the candles."
I shook my head to dispel the images and, after taking the biggest breathe I could, blew. Oh boy, if this is what thirty feels like I don't think I'll make it to fifty.
Happy Trails,
Leslie
Visit my website
Twitter Instagram Facebook Menu for Murder Cocktails at Sunset
After arriving at your favorite lunch destination and eating your favorite meal, your waitress rushes to your table. She looks panicked. She grabs you and looks into your eyes, but doesn't say anything. finally she turns toward the wait staff, who are gathered just outside the kitchen and...
"Someone call 911," she shrieked.
I glanced nervously at the other diners. Why was the server causing such a scene? I never complained about my food, even when my order was wrong and the chef put tomatoes on my sandwich. I dislike tomatoes. They make the bread mushy and invariably I get a tiny little seed stuck in my teeth that no one bothers to tell me about.
The couple at the table to my right jumped up and ran for the door. The man seated on my left sat, mouth agape food dribbling down his chin. The child who had screeched through my entire meal was finally silent.
I tried to stand, to shake her grip off my arms but my body refused to cooperate. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her to leave me be but I could make no sound.
The chef dashed from the kitchen, fire extinguisher in hand. Someone threw me to the floor and rolled my body in a tablecloth. The smell of burnt meat assailed my nostrils. I couldn't breathe through the heavy fabric of the cloth.
"Someone help me!" I screamed.
I heard my husband's voice call to me from what seemed like a great distance. "Honey, blow out the candles."
I shook my head to dispel the images and, after taking the biggest breathe I could, blew. Oh boy, if this is what thirty feels like I don't think I'll make it to fifty.
Happy Trails,
Leslie
Visit my website
Twitter Instagram Facebook Menu for Murder Cocktails at Sunset
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