Writing Prompt: Family For Dinner

Let me tell you about the time my brother tried to cook me for dinner.

It was by all accounts a classier affair than the usual cannibal tales you see and hear in movies. No bubbling cauldron here or grand oven in a sweet-smelling house, oh no. There was marinading with rich sauces. Finely chopped vegetables of the highest quality more at home on the plates of the wealthy than in some run of the mill stew. Hannibal Lecter himself would have given a firm nod and glowing smile were he attending the meal. And that's exactly what it was.

A meal.

He didn't want to kill me. No, murder was far too filthy a task for my brother to tarnish his precious time with. He was just curious that's all. I'll admit that even I was interested to know. I mean it is just meat after all. Albeit the meat was me and the me had a life with hopes and dreams and a comfortable but tedious job at a bank. Ha ha, oh yeah that was the funny bit; there's me spending several hours a day surrounded by people's hard earned green and suddenly I'm to be served up with a side salad. Well I thought it was funny. Maybe a little poetic...ironic? Ah who knows, that old song screwed up everyone's perception of irony. Catchy though. I actually got to see the chick in concert once and she--oh shoot I'm getting off topic. Where was I? Oh yeah, my brother didn't get the gag. He was the serious one in the family which worked for him in the long run. Keep a level head all your life and your success becomes big enough to warrant using laser cut titanium steak knives to deftly carve slices of your brother on to exquisite china plates.

POP

Ah, there goes the champagne. Like I said, classy guy my brother, so I picked up one or two habits from him. Now I know what you're thinking 'who has champagne at a regular dinner' but I never went in for the whole wine thing. Waste of a grape if you ask me. No I'd much rather have a beer but champagne makes me feel all floaty in my head. There I go again getting off topic. Terrible habit. Obviously the evening ended with me not being digested beneath a finely tailored suit that hung on the frame of my own brother. There comes a point, as I'm sure you can imagine, when your own mortality suddenly stares you in the face and makes things very clear.

You fight.

Or you die.

I wasn't ready to become meat and even when the thing I was to fight was my own flesh and blood, my family, I fought. When I was trapped, tied up, half submerged in some flavouring, I kept thinking to myself how my brother would look himself in the mirror afterwards. Stare into his own face knowing he had killed and consumed not just another person but someone he had grown up with, shared laughter and love with, arguments and rivalries, hopes and dreams. A life. And do you know what I realised after the whole ordeal was over? After I had survived? Looking at yourself in the mirror is pretty damn easy. But then I had to look at his face first which was more or less the same thing.

Identical twins are funny like that.

So that's my story. I'm sorry if it wasn't told very well, I've never been one for captivating my listeners. It's still a good story though. It has drama and tragedy and tension. Oh and that joke about the money and the salad? You could almost say I...garnished it just right. Ha! See, I'm learning how to tell it better. Practice makes perfect as they say. There's more to it as well but it's the sort of thing that goes in an epilogue of a book. I bet it would even have more flare that way. I might write it one day now that I have the time. My brother really did have a lot of money you know. Not much for taste though, I mean look at this kitchen? Art nouveau belongs anywhere but a kitchen. His kitchen is awful...my kitchen now I suppose.

DING

Aha! That's the oven ready. Perfect timing. I was starting to ramble there at the end. Ooh, you'll like this, watch; just an ordinary double-wide refrigerator right? Wrong, it's the oven! Like it? I modified it myself; my brother was the serious one but I got the creativity. Big meals need big ovens and this one certainly does the trick. It has helped cook all kinds of delicacies for me.
Well thanks for listening, detective. It's very therapeutic of me to get all this off my chest now and then. Clears the mind. You should never eat when you're stressed you know? Now lets get this gag off, don't want it burning up in the oven and spoiling the meat.

"You're insane!"

Now now, detective, that's hardly professional of you. And after I treated you so well; fed you, kept you entertained. Don't ruin it.

"Please don't do this!"

Oh but detective it's already done.

I'm hungry now.