Garlic Rules

Garlic sat alone in the bowl, ancient and smug. It remembered empires, plagues, lovers. A hand reached–peasant fingers, trembling. Garlic did not flinch. It split itself open, releasing truth. The kitchen gasped. The soup confessed its sins. Even the bread repented. Garlic had spoken. Dinner would be holy tonight.

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