Soup
"Dave."
"Dave." Rose knocked on the door and again said his name, louder this time.
"Jesus woman give me a minute"
"Dave, open the door."
"No. Fuck off."
"Yes."
"No,"
Rose pulled a bobby pin out of her hair to pick the lock. She was successful.
"rOSE WHAT THE FUCK GET-"
Dave.
I have soup for you, Dave.
She lingered there, in the doorway, a bowl full near to the brim with Spaghetti-O's balancing in her right hand.
"I have soup for you."
"Okay one I don't want soup two SPAGHETTIOS ARE NOT SOUP.
WHY ARE YOU GIVING ME SOUP."
She approached the enraged blonde male slowly, bowl of circled pasta and tomato(?) sauce still precariously balancing in her hand.
"Rose. No. What the fuck."
"No. No, go away. What are you doing, leave. Leave god please. Rose. Rose no."
Dave's anger melted into fear as he watched his sister and friend advance, slowly, slowly with the bowl, picking up the spoon, now close enough to the bed to touch him.
"Eat my soup, Dave."
Eat.
My.
Soup.
Rose quickly pressed down on Dave's chest, splattering Dave with sauce. She clutched the spoon with her fist and screeched, hERE COMES THE MCFUCKING AIRPLANE. CHOO CHOO GOD DAMN IT
She began near stabbing at his mouth, Dave dodging the frightening spoon like an infant rejecting it's mushed carrots.
"OH GOD ROSE, WHAT THE FUCK GOD STOP PLEASE FUCK"
But she persisted.
Splashing into the bowl of Spaghetti-O's, getting a large pile of pasta, Rose Lalonde persisted assaulting her brother with the satan dish.
Dave began to cry as red sauce was smeared across his cheek and shades violently, still refusing to eat the soup."I SPENT ALL THIS GOD DAMN TIME MAKING THIS FUCKING SOUP FOR YOU DAVE EAT MY FUCKING SOUP"
+-Epilogue-+
Dave sobbed as Rose held his face still. She slowly pushed the spoon into his mouth, gently, shushing him.
Spaghetti-O's slid down his chin along with tears; face, arms and shirt stained orange with sauce of undetermined origin.
Rose was on his lap, numerous cans full of various soups behind her. She was slathered in broth and noodles from the past hours of soup, Dave quietly sobbing below her, bruises blossoming on his cheeks from the harsh metal spoon.
Open your mouth Dave.
There are more Spaghetti-O's, Dave.
