Chicken Pugget

This week (after a long holiday break) my writing group could just not think up a word to do for our Flash Fiction Writing Slam! I suggested that we go to Google, type in the word ‘Crazy’, and write about the 18th picture that showed up.

This is that picture. Sorry original photographer, but I have no idea how to credit you, this picture turned up everywhere in searches, and now it is here as well! If it is yours, let me know and I will credit you.


Chicken Pugget

Whimper.

Aristotle looked over at me longingly. I had to avert my gaze in shame.

“No,” I said, my voice riddled with guilt, “these are not for you!”

He returned a look to me that I understood all too well. That was the look that didn’t say “Yes they are for me, as I am cute!”, it was the look that said “Those are not for YOU either.”

He was right. I shouldn’t be eating these. I had made a promise, not just to myself, but to Steve, Aristotle, and everyone at the used video store when I bought my new Jazzercise VHS tape.

“Look, it was a busy day at the rollercoaster repair shop, I didn’t want to cook tonight.”

Whimper.

I wasn’t going to get away with it that easy, I could tell, but I had to try.

“You shouldn’t be eating these either you know. They are bad for dogs!”

Whimper.

“I’ll do an extra set of Jazzercise tomorrow okay? It is my weekend.”

Whimper.

“Okay fine, just one! But don’t you dare tell anyone Stots!”

The flung nugget was devoured in one swift dribble dusted bite.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone Angela, this will be our little secret.” Aristotle said, licking his lips with his oversized tongue.

“Oh right, I always forget you can speak one sentence after eating a chicken nugget.”

Whimper.


It went weird at the end there, I admit.

If you have 15 minutes to write about this picture, what would you have written about?

 

 

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