Three Small Cruelties
These three flash fictions are unrelated, except perhaps in the accidental ways they ended up beside one another.
Dinner
There were two in the tank. The first’s claws were minuscule. How it had made it past quality control and into the new PickACritter™ tank, I was unsure; they were completely inadequate. The second had antennae half the length of its body. I am no lobster expert, but something about that seemed wrong. No, you don’t eat the antennae, but still. The water was a shade too blue, I thought. Do lobsters normally live in that kind of clear, blue water? Had everyone else simply accepted these flaws? Or were these two the only creatures unfortunate enough to be caught? I stood there a while longer, studying them as though one more defect might tell me what to do.
Futility
First step. Fifth step. Eighth step. Each block of concrete cracked away more teeth as Carl tumbled toward the landing. The hospital rebuilt his jaw, but replacing his teeth was dental work, the insurer said. Dentures cost more than Carl had. Six months later, on the paper plate before him, lay an assortment of hard, raw vegetables. Broccoli. Celery. Carrots.
Between his gums, the celery flexes and breaks. Its fibers refuse to come apart. He crushes them until his mouth fills with a ball of green string, then swallows hard as it scratches its way down his throat.
The broccoli yields only enough to bend. Carl’s gums squeeze the stem until they begin to ache. He spits out the wet, flowery mass. Aside from a few bent florets, it is unchanged.
He bites down on the carrot. It slips and fires into his throat. He coughs violently, folds over, and pulls it back up just before he chokes. He remains there on the dingy kitchen floor, breathing through his open mouth.
The unfinished wood scrapes his back. Next, he might fish a can of creamed spinach from the pantry and retrieve the can opener someone gave him years ago. Its circular blade will pierce the lid. After three turns, the plastic handle will snap, and only by slicing open his fingers will he finally manage to eat.
Relief
The viscera have soaked the mattress and now, finally, all is silent. She has stopped screaming. There is no crying from the misshapen corpse at the end of the bed, half-covered by the little blanket. I ask her what we should do with it. She does not answer, so I fold the blanket over it and place the bundle inside a black plastic bag. It will go in the ground, and we can move forward.
