Flash

Farm-to-Table

A baby curiously touching a man's face while he lies on grass.
“Don’t cook your chicken before …””

Kathy admired his dating-app profile: “Farm-to-table, eh?” she texted, flirting.

“My lifestyle,” he rejoined. “Dinner’s on me?” 

She arrived hungry. 

He opened the door, beaming. 

A live chicken strutted across the kitchen. 

“Meet Beatrice. She’s organic.” 

Kathy blinked. 

He sharpened a knife. 

Kathy backed out slowly.

Beatrice clucked. 

Alone. Again.

***Faster than a speeding gummy, able to leap small buildings at a single bound Flash Fiction is a guaranteed page turner.

The preceding is satire. Straight up, Skippy. No warranties are expressed or implied. For life advice, try a professional. For investment tips, try a dart board. For salvation, the gentleman in the robe has been handling that portfolio for 2,000 years.