The sauce, cherry-colored. I take a spoonful. All watching me, waiting for my reaction, too interested. Will not be good, I realize too late, after information already departed for parietal lobe. Ready myself for terrible taste. Filthy socks? Animal waste? Broccoli?

No. Spicy heat. It burns. Not prepared. Could never have prepared for this. Hands clapped over mouth. Mirth surrounds me. Laughter. At my cheese grater pain. My tongue shredded, then throat, then stomach. Now dagger pain.

Minutes pass. I’m writhing. Am handed leaves, told, “Chew.” Suspicious, but desperate. If told donkey piss would relieve pain, would try it, logistics aside. I chew leaves.

Bitter. But relief comes. Mouth, throat, stomach. Better. Not best. But better.

And now, I watch. I wait. And finally, victim arrives. I hand him the bowl. “Taste test,” I say.

“Try it.”

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s