Dinnertime
John was in front of the stove, stirring the sauce. Slowly he poured spices, coloring it. The meat was ready, the salad was already made, and the rice was already done. John opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of table wine to add to the sauce. It was almost ready. The only thing left was to cut and sauté the meat.
“Billy! Can you help me?”
A boy of thirteen years came in the kitchen. “What you want me to do, Dad?”
“Take that drop cloth and put it under the table. Let’s cut the meat.”
The boy did as he was asked and John approached the table, holding a knife. The body lying there shivered and tears began to fall from its eyes. John sharpened the knife and stabbed it in the body’s right leg. The body released a muffled cry.
“Don’t move! I don’t want the rice to be ruined!”