The Dining Room

by Sarah Ockershausen Delp

A dining room table set for company.

The table is set for company.

The florescent shine off the faucet is deafening.  She’ll teeter in, whisking the tiles in tiny steps. Click clacking in her vintage heels as soon as the bell ting-tings on the oven. I’m cooking inside. It smells of rosemary and thyme, roasted up as a leg of lamb. How appropriate. Call me innocent and feed me to the guilty, a murdered baby sheep. 

A gasping glint, stabbing, check the temperature. Not quite ready, time enough for wine. Stemware, bits of broken earth burned hot, blown, mutated by a man in a warehouse… chimes, accepting the alcohol from the bottle. Dip drip, every last drop for her guests.  The glasses stand attention on their island perch, breathing, eager to deliver the first blow.  Beside them, melon balled brie melts in minutes, microseconds, years, dies dining on itself and waiting for artisan chips.

Clean as God’s intentions her kitchen is.  Not a fleck of dust, no mouse speckles, not a splatter of sauce.  All pristine glimmer and icebox excellence. Antibacterial evidence erasure.  All the fingerprints wiped clean. Smears evaporated by vinegar and bleach. Chrome and spring green chairs won’t do for this meal, oh no. Far too present, far too real with a chance of embarrassing squeaky air-squeals. No, the antiquated mahogany fiddle-backs accompany the guest table in The Dining Room.

A perfect predictable lie. They’ll dine on me and wine, dying slow slow slow. Come to realize their sins, then beg forgiveness, immunity, craven calls of unknowing carrion. They’ll find none in her kitchen, none in her heart… hungry, beating for souls. There is no forgetting, no forging ahead, no redemption… only my silent surrender to the knife and plate.

Category: Featured, Fiction, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing, SNHU Student