Breakfast of Corn (Otherwise Untitled)
#69 of Short Stories
A fox quietly cooks hoe cakes, hoping to provide comfort food to the jackalope who's sleeping on his couch.
~ As the lump of yellow batter crackled along amongst the thin veneer of cooking oil in the skillet, the fox regarded the whole process dubiously. He'd luckily had the corn meal and salt on hand to attempt the hoe cakes, but the recipe he found seemed overly simple and as the pile of not-quite-pancakes collected in his microwave oven he was beginning to wonder if these would remind the jackalope of home. He stepped over to peer into his apartment's living room, and look upon the couch.
~ The hoe cake being, as were its bretheren, in an apparent contest to determine if it or the skillet were made of sterner stuff could afford the fox a long gaze and ponder. The jackalope, who admitted his name to be Linda during the previous night's flirtations, seemed like a ragdoll tangled amongst the haphazard bedding when regarded against the ball of nerves he had been the night before wearing. The fox grinned a bit, still glad to have been able to get a hot meal into Linda even if it primarily consisted of waffles and french fries. Typical fare for drunks, though the pair had remained for the most part sober into the darkness.
~ "You are a bizarre yellow food paste.", Greg softly admonished the hoe cake as he returned to turn it over and brown the formerly top side. He mused, "Is he going to head out as soon as the end of breakfast?", recalling Linda's original plans to sleep in the banged up hatchback he was using to travel towards the coast with. The jackalope did not seem to have a strong regard for the safety of such plans, as was clear in the previous night's tone.
~ With the hoe cake presenting a new muster of batter to the wiles of the skillet, Greg stepped back over to watch the jackalope sleep. He eyed the splotches of blood on the patches of gauze, held in place to the nubs where the jackalope had cut off his antlers by all of the medical tape left in the apartment, "I suppose I need to head to the pharmacy, to get more first aid stuff...", musing slowly to himself, "...and I could offer to take Linda with me."
~ The hoe cake, stubborn to be as burnt as it was appetizing, offered no advice. "I.. could offer to take Linda to the coast." Greg gingerly transferred the fully browned hoe cake the to plate in the microwave, surveying what he had left to lose in this apartment and in this town. Another dollop of batter later, he was again gazing at the couch, regarding what he had to gain on the road.