Food

Short story: Food

/ Claire Fuller / 31 Comments

grapevine2bgoo11

 

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.

Short story: Memories of food

/ Claire Fuller / 31 Comments

gnarled-tree

We sat under the tree and my father tore at the dark bread and pared strips of cheese with his knife. The cheese was warm and reminded me sickeningly of the milk I had thrown up. I hollowed out the soft part of the bread and pushed the cheese inside. An albino vole in a mud bank wrinkled its snout at me. It became a brown mouse with a yellow nose sitting on my knee, twitching its whiskers.

“Just eat it, Peggy,” my father said, his eyes closed. I stuffed the bread and the cheese between the roots of the tree.

Much later, when we were starving, I dreamt of that food, left behind, wasted.

***

This week I’ve cheated a little – this is an edited extract from my novel (currently called Our Endless Numbered Days). I’ve just finished it and this week have been sending it out to agents. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

This piece of writing is part of the Friday Fictioneers writing group. Each week writers from around the world attempt to write 100 words (or so) starting with a picture, this week from Scott Vanatter.

I’d love to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s stories inspired by this picture or to join in, with the group hosted by Rochelle Wishoff-Fields.