THE CHEF
:INTRO:
The food was disgusting. Just thinking of it again makes me want to throw up. It couldn't even be called edible. I would love five minutes alone with the chef of Blackfield Asylum. I'd show him a thing or two. Anyway, maybe my expertise in the matter just made me a bit more critical than anyone else would be.
I hated the trays, too. When you're missing four of the tips of your fingers, they're not the easiest thing in the world to hold. I was dismally picking at the "food" on the despicable trays when my cell door opened that day.
In walked a sad-looking man with one good eye. I couldn't help but stare at him. Finally, he introduced himself as Calypso. What a name, huh? Well, he told me I could finally get revenge on the injustice that had been bestowed upon me all those years ago. Him showing up only showed me that he knew the truth in the matter and I was inclined to trust anyone who believed my side of the story.
I was to take part in his little contest. I knew I would win. Nobody could possibly want the grand prize more than I did. I could taste it.
:FLASHBACK:
As my head lay on the steering wheel, I felt a sense of victory before closing my eyes and slipping into the black abyss that was waiting for me.
I saw the fat man's face again, smiling and laughing. His chins jiggling, making me want to throw up. He never even explained what he was doing in my kitchen in the first place. He was a mockery of everything our art stood for.
The incident happened at my restaurant about 8 years ago. I was busy in the kitchen, preparing meals. As the head chef, it was imperative that I take a leading roll. I was barking orders while working myself as hard as I could go when the fat man walked into my kitchen.
He was a rival chef that had his dreams stepped on when the restaurant was given to me instead of him. He even begged me to go in as partners with him, but the sub par experiments that he sent out of his kitchen and onto the tables of the customers forced me to say no. I knew he was eating in my restaurant that night, and part of me wanted to throw him out. But I didn't.
This is what I get for being a gentleman, I guess.
The fat man walked into my kitchen and smiled at the staff. He was a huge distraction in every sense of the word. My employees kept glancing up at him, paying less and less attention to the meals I had them making.
My reputation was on the line here.
"Out!" I yelled at him. He had no business in there anyway.
"Certainly…" He said with that sick grin. I went back to my counter and leaned over the green onions I was slicing.
The sorry excuse for a man purposely bumped into me, causing me to slice off four of the tips of my fingers.
I heard him laugh as the disgusting man left my kitchen. My dreams were crushed and he knew it. You can't create masterpieces with only one hand. I couldn't, anyway.
Rage overcame me and grabbed the nearest towel to keep my hand concealed from the staff. I wanted as little attention drawn to me as possible.
I slowly began to stumble over to the backroom, picking up a lemon sorbet intended for Table 6, the fat man's table, on the way.
You didn't need two hands to sprinkle rat poison, did you?
After the dessert was served and I gave him time to eat, I brought my injury to everyone's attention and went to the hospital.
By the time I got out, I was told that the lemon sorbet was the fat man's date's dessert. I had murdered the wrong person. I guess it serves her right for being with such an awful person.
My lawyer got me off on insanity and I was sentenced to life in Blackfield Asylum. During all my years in the desolate place, I dreamed of getting even with the fat man that ruined my life.
:ENDING:
Finally, the competition was won and it was time to claim my prize. Calypso was more than happy to oblige. He led me to my old restaurant, which was now just an abandoned building. The fat man was strapped to a chair at Table 6.
I smiled. A knife lay on the table next to him. I picked it up and promptly chopped off his fingers. This was just the beginning, but it was always the first thing I wanted to do to him.
He screamed loudly and I laughed even louder. I picked up one of the stubby fingers on the table, in the pool of blood, and placed it in between the fat man's lips.
"EAT!" I commanded. He began crying as the nibbled on his own severed finger.
I'm sure it tasted better than the wretched culinary atrocities that he made back in the old days.
I went to the kitchen and was happy to find that the oven still worked. I went back into the dining room and smiled at my victim.
I turned to Calypso.
"About 20 minutes a pound…" I said to him through my grin, "This is gonna take a while, isn't it?"
I looked back at the sobbing fat man at Table 6 and chuckled happily.
I'm sure it would taste better than the Blackfield Asylum meals.