This post was originally published at Novelicious.com and is now at WritingTipsOasis.com. WritingTipsOasis.com acquired Novelicious.com in June 2022.
Not one, but two five minute fiction pieces in this month’s newsletter. Which technically makes it ten minutes, but who’s counting? Ann won our hearts during the Novelicious Pinterest Prompt in February with the lovely – and culinarily challenged – Christopher, who gets his revenge on the egotistical and smug Tom in the most delicious way. Fancy seeing your own writing here? Be sure to enter this month’s Pinterest Prompt on Novelicious.
By Ann A J Ligali
Fried tomatoes – charred.
Egg whites – on kitchen floor.
My face – covered in flour. Geisha white. Aaaah!
I whip my tea towel off my shoulder and throw it on the counter.
‘Well, that’ll teach you,’ said Tom smugly, while turning his golden sizzling steaks in the frying pan.
‘Teach me what?’ I say frowning.
‘For bragging about being the next Gino D’Acampo – now look what’s happened. Pass me the salt, will you?’
I pass him the sugar. He sprinkles it lavishly over his steaks.
‘You should have told her the truth – you can’t cook!’ he chuckles, grabbing a knife, a bunch of parsley and chopping it.
‘I know, but I want to impress. She loves food. You know what they say about food being a way to someone’s…’
Tom bends back with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘Impress? With something your pants at? Come to think of it …’ he trails off, chopping the parsley at lightning speed with the expertise of a Masterchef finalist. ‘…What are you good at, Christopher?’
I narrow my eyes, cheeks burning.
Tom swings round on his heel, turning his back to me and opens a pot revealing the sweet, peppery scent of the Mediterranean. ‘Pass me the plain flour, Chrissy boy.’
Reluctantly, I reach for the self-raising flour, discreetly throwing in a handful of bicarbonate soda, and pass it to him, smiling. ‘Yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t have lied, I ought to impress her with something I’m good at.’ I remove my apron from my waist, put it to one side and click my fingers. ‘Dinner! I’ll take her out tomorrow – somewhere posh.’
‘Hurray! Thank God you practiced your cooking skills before inviting her over, eh? A disaster waiting to happen. Pass me the egg yolks.’
I hand him the fiery mustard. ‘So when’s Jill coming round?’ I change the subject.
‘At eight. I hope she’ll say yes.’
‘She will, especially when she tastes your food.’ I glance devilishly across to the table, dressed up in fine linen and crystal dinnerware. In the centre of the table, a little red box with a bow.
‘Don’t worry Chrissy,’ he puts an arm round me, as if I’m his mate, then a rush of cinnamon, chicken and lemon greets me. ‘Someday, you might be as good as me.’
I look up at him and grin. ‘Ooh, I can’t wait.’