Not Grapes (Otherwise Untitled)
#60 of Short Stories
A fox tries to finish a sandwich.
~ The fox stood alone in his kitchen, consoled by the dull rattle of the refrigerator straining to moan back to life. The partially complete sandwich on the counter seemed to mock him, as he again took inventory of the contents.
~ "Tomato.. grilled onions and kale.. fried seitan.. peanut butter.. what else? What are you missing!", he demanded of the sandwich.
~ The meal remained inert, resting on the plate on the counter.
~ Kevin retreated to the refrigerator, bowed by the stubborn assembly of ingredients. "Perhaps it's in here..", consulting the contents, "Is this a potato, or an avacado?" It was to his disappointment to discover that it did jiggle, and was not an avacado. "I suppose you're not going anywhere until Spring Cleaning..."
~ The fox's frustrations turned back to the sandwich, "What do you want from me! What can I even add?"
~ Further retreating to the dining room to settle into a chair as he began to cry, face buried in his hands, "He always knew. He loved to make me sandwiches, and always knew."