Short story: Food



For almost a week in April or perhaps May – I had long lost track of the months by then – we ran out of food. The snow had melted but the cruel earth still refused to yield and no animals struggled in our traps.

I dreamed of Ute’s apple strudel as plump as a breast under a peasant’s blouse, and when I woke the phantom scent of cinnamon and pastry continued to tease me.

A mile from the cabin, we found a bed of heather which an insect had colonised, laying its grubs in gobs of spittle. My father and I ate them all.


This is a 100-word piece of flash fiction based on the picture above. It’s actually a summer re-run…our group mistress, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is on holiday, and so has suggested that all us Friday Fictioners can also have a week’s holiday and dig out our story from August 2012.

This scene, changed and expanded, actually made it into my novel. I love the idea that all these flash fiction pieces, mine and other people’s might have a life beyond our weekly writings.

To read more of what has been written in response to this picture click here. Or to join in and write your own, visit Rochelle’s website, here.

31 thoughts on “Short story: Food

  1. Claire, I love your second paragraph (and the story, even though it goes south after that!) As Bill says, “Hunger is the best sauce”, but I’d have to be very hungry, which they evidently were.



  2. Dear Claire,

    They say that hunger is the best sauce. Well done. I don’t remember this one so I’m pleased you re-posted. And in writing nothing’s ever wasted, is it?

    Back from the farm. It was a great respite.




  3. The feeling of need and desperation is strong in this. I particularly liked the comparison of the strudel with a plump breast, and then the phantom smell of cinnamon – I could almost hear the stomach’s responding growl.


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