Cannibal, the Natural History

Everything was so bad because of what happened in the spring, but I eat it.

I asked Chuck, “What happened in the spring?”

Something very very bad. I couldn’t get to what without Chuck’s help. The reason to remember was to keep talking to Chuck for X amount of time.

Chuck said, then I nearly said, the drought. He said it first.

“Is there good news?” I asked Chuck. I did not address Chuck as Chuck, who was unaware I knew his name or his secret.

Chuck answered me spitefully. “They are ripening them artificially.”

Spiteful Chuck. I knew. The secret about Chuck was that everything was nice about Chuck except that he did not know how—anything about being nice. Some­thing else about eating—the train of my thought—in X amount of time, nowhere near Chuck, I got to it—it was mothers who would not knowingly eat a coward before their babies were born. Among these people, the diet restrictions were severe. Strict for a purpose.

I’m a mom like that. Not to brag, today at lunch, Maggie did not smell it on me, what I have been cook­ing. She guessed wrong. Chuuuuuuck!

I know one thing about Maggie. She is a very, very mixed-up person.