At the candle-lit table in the corner of the Limping Frog, Michael is having a lone feast. This has long been his favourite meal, even before the time that the critic somewhat pretentiously said of it that ‘the gentle herbal flavour perfectly complements the delicately spiced meat.’ The crisp asparagus Michael uses is still fresh and is still delivered by his trusted supplier. The wine has chilled during a day that passed slowly. As he waited for the lamb to marinade, Michael alternated between reading his textbook on corridors and the History of the Bible. He gave up when he began to confuse the narratives and started to wonder whether he would end up in someone’s living room or stumble across god in his bathrobe. Now, the candle flickers as Michael raises his glass to nobody. Two weeks ago, he shut the doors to what he still refers to nostalgically as his father’s restaurant. He swallows the wine and chokes back the thought that Michael Snr’s place may never reopen.
Henry Bladon is based in Somerset in the UK. He is a writer of short fiction and poetry with a PhD in literature and creative writing from the University of Birmingham. He is the author of the novel Threeways, and several poetry collections. His work can be seen in Poetica Review, Pure Slush, Truth Serum Press, Lunate, and O:JA&L, among other places.
170 words