i wrote this for my friend, who is AWE-INSPIRING in her amazing-ness. Merry Xmas, Zookii!
Disclaimer: none of these are character's mine - all belong to Eoin Colfer (pronounced 'Owen' by the way ... :) Enjoy!
But now Artemis was faced with the dilemma of how to actually make the sandwich …
Artemis stared at the inside of his refrigerator suspiciously. He was sure that there should be instructions on the inside of this thing. Mulch Diggums was waiting outside with important information - information that he refused to give until he had eaten a sandwich. How hard can it be? Artemis thought. He had eaten sandwiches before … once … several years ago … maybe. Two slices of bread he remembered vaguely, with something in the middle. He got out his father's wholemeal bread, glancing around for anything else. Okay. Artemis steeled himself. You're a genius. A prodigy. Now make it work.
He picked up several cherry tomatoes, a whole onion, and some mayonnaise, putting them whole onto the bread. Artemis got some lettuce out, placing it on the sandwich. As he turned back to the fridge, he heard a dull thump. The lettuce rolled across the floor, coming to rest at his feet, leaving behind it a sticky white trail. Placing it one the sandwich again, he watched as it rolled slowly across the bench top, teetering at the edge, then falling onto the marble tiled floor. It stayed still, looking sickly and slightly flattened around it's base, mayonnaise exploding out of the bruised green-and-brown leaves. Artemis picked it up once more and plonked the whole lettuce on a crevice between the onion and tomatoes. It stayed. "Good lettuce," he said to it, patting a wrinkled leaf fondly.
Artemis's eyes alighted on a whole, marinated chicken sitting on a baking tray. Well hel-lo. He frowned as he realised that the whole chicken wouldn't fit on the traumatised piece of bread. Pity. He had grand plans for that chicken. No, wait. It was a turkey. Artemis wrenched off the legs, placing one on either side of the lettuce. Mayonnaise dribbled over the edges of the bread, which was already soggy and depressingly flat. Oh, dear. What do people eat with turkey? Artemis thought. Cranberry sauce!! He peered into the fridge curiously, but it was devoid of Christmas leftovers. Artemis pushed aside some buns, shaved ham, butter and cheese, reaching for a brightly coloured jar at the back. Salsa sauce, he read. Warning: Hot. Perfect, Artemis thought. He doled it over the sandwich, adding in some jam to counter-act the heat.
Artemis cast around for ideas again. Cheese, said some hidden part of his brain. Artemis dutifully added the salty-flavoured parmesan cheese, and several chunks of crumbling swiss cheese. It was rotting slightly, but that, of course, would only add to the taste. He looked at the sandwich. No, it was too ordinary. Truth be told, Artemis was having fun. He grabbed some marinated baby octopus arms, caviar and soy sauce and chucked it onto the teetering sandwich. Part of it slid down slowly onto the plate like a sluggish mini-landslide.
Artemis ignored it, trusting the plate. Without turning around, he put some dried seaweed strips and corn kernels across the soy sauce, poking in some banana. Unfortunately, he forgot to peel it. Either that, or he didn't know how. He squeezed some mustard and english pickes over the banana, poking it in with a fork. Finally he sprinkled some salt over it, and garnished it with coriander.
Artemis emerged from the kitchen with what resembled nothing more than an explosion on a plate. "It's harder than it looks," he explained.
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