Fiction Friday! This one has nothing to do with Sci-Fi Land. Those posts can now be found on Thursdays or under the Sci-Fi Land page above. This weeks prompt was to write something inspired by this:
Which was a little torturous, especially since I am eating vegan for March. What follows is a bit of silliness, which, let’s all be honest, might be a nice break from the rest of my writing. Enjoy!
All concrit is welcome and helpful.
The millisecond the bubble gum pink icing hit the counter, I knew this day was shot. The crystal clear clarity to the exact degree that it was going to suck, really set in when she reached for the rose-pink colored sprinkles. Pink on pink, really? Come on lady, throw me a bone. At least sprinkle me with white or black, then maybe I have the cute or punky vibe going for me. No? Fine. I hope you get fat and all your hair falls out.
Now, all I can hope for is a frantic mother in a total panic, needing cartoon colored treats for a birthday party she forgot her kid was attending, flinging herself through those doors and in total desperation buying whatever is left. Even then, the kid will take maybe one bite out of me before I get hurled through the air at another kid, or thoughtlessly discarded on a side table only discovered days later.
Please, woman, drink some more coffee, have a cigarette even and think about what you are on the verge of doing to me. Oh, hey, if you’re going to wipe that running nose with your hand, could you maybe wash it before you touch me again? No? Ew, gross. Now, I’m slightly wet in all the wrong places and you have twice over guaranteed that I’m going to sit on that shelf, under the heat lamps, dehydrating until I’m a super pink hockey puck helping weigh down a garbage bag in the Staten Island dump.
Real eaters, the ones that really enjoy what they put in their mouths, always go for the golden brown rings with simple or chocolate icing, or their air-fluffed cousins filled with smooth, creamy custards. Sometimes, they go for the maple colored twisted bands laced with cinnamon and sugar, or apples. But never, and I do mean never, do the real eaters ever go for a hot pink donut with matching sprinkles. So, again, thanks for that.
As predicted, I sit here all dressed up with no place to go, with my icing hardening so that it will now flake off in chunks if someone bites into me. I’m thinking that being right isn’t all that much fun, and I’m hoping the health inspector comes in and shuts this place down thus saving my donut brethren from similar shameful fates.