Hors D'oeuvres, Anyone?
(A Culinary Comedy)
-4/24/11-
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and I made no money off of them.
The room was dark, so dark that all Goniff could see were a few suspicious shapes in the middle, and yet that didn't worry him in least. It didn't even concern him that he wasn't bothered. What did concern him was the giant hors d'oeuvre standing a few feet from him. It was an ugly specimen, drooling without any particular concern about it and swaying on its thin legs. It seemed to be watching him interestedly, even without eyes as it was, and that thought drove him to scream in what he was fully aware was a highly girly voice.
"Let me eat you. . ." it said in a slow, foolish voice. "You would be delicious. . ."
He didn't answer, instead whimpering incoherently in immobilizing terror.
"Is that a no. . .?" it asked slowly, looking confused.
"What do you think?" he heard himself shouting distantly, as if from far away.
"I'm afraid I can't take no as an answer. . ." it replied matter-of-factly. "It's too much to process. . .I have a small mind, doncha know. . .?"
"You shouldn't even have a mind!" he screamed back. "What about that don't you get!"
It seemed to consider that for a moment. "Uh. . .All of it. . .? Wait. . . Was that a theoretical question. . .?"
"Rhetorical, dimwit!"
"My mind is a matter for theoretical questions. . .?" it asked, looking hopeful. "You must be a great man. . .Good. . .Great men taste much better than stupid ones. . ."
"Why?" he found himself shouting. He didn't really want to know, but somehow the thought caught his attention.
"It's the brains. . ." it explained dully. "There's fluids that make you stupid, doncha know. . .? They don't taste very good, no. . .So the less there is, the better the brains taste. . .
Total silence fell for several minutes. After a while, Goniff could almost imagine a tumbleweed bouncing by. But no, that would add a comedic air to this nightmare, and that would be far too much.
"Any last words. . .?" the hors d'oeuvre asked at last.
"Where did you learn that lame line?" he asked.
"Hey, hey. . ." it said, waving its hand dismissively. "I've seen the Amercian cinema too. . .Isn't that what they always say before the person dies. . .?"
"A century ago, sure!"
"Oh, well. . ." it sighed. "Any last words. . .?"
In a final gesture of defiance, he spat at it. "How 'bout that?"
Behind the hors d'oeuvre, glowing yellow eyes lit up like car headlights. This was too much for Goniff, and he began to gibber incoherently in terror.
Too calmly, the hors d'oeuvre wiped the saliva from its surface and looked at it. ". . .Hors d'oeuvres, anyone?"
Suddenly, the yellow lights shot forward. Then there was only darkness.
The End.