Daily Prompt: Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call). Feel free to switch one ingredient if you have to (or revisit one from previous trio prompts).
It’s another work day for hubby, meaning another day I’m on my own for eating. These days are somewhat of a disaster for me. Somehow I can’t wrap my head around the concept of actually cooking for myself. I sometimes worry what I’m going to do if he dies first.
As usual, I wait until my stomach is actually in the hurting stage before I am motivated to drag myself downstairs to check out the fridge. Beer, bloody mary mix, margarita mix, pina colada mix, and jars of olives, maraschino cherries, and jalapenos fill the fridge. In the freezer is a bag of frozen ravioli. I’ve already gone through all of the TV dinners.
I slam the fridge shut and look around the kitchen. There’s a stack of Annie’s Macaroni and Cheese on the floor. Even though I hate the 10 minutes I have to stand over the stove stirring, Annie’s wins as the prize as the entrée du jour.
Ten minutes later I bring the pot of hot Annie’s up to the TV room and flip through the Netflix horror movies, scooping macaroni and cheese into my mouth with the cooking ladle. Pretty much all of the movies are low-grade slashers. “So what’s your attraction to them?” Hubby once asked. He doesn’t like our “Recently Watched” queue filled with cheesy horror flicks. I didn’t answer him. He wouldn’t understand, being a normal person.
I choose a movie with a bunch of teenagers, locked in a house surrounded by zombies. The night is pitch black and all of the house lights are off. They argue about who is going to go out next to seek help, and the argument escalates into a love-triangle-jealousy quarrel where one guy shoots another with the only gun they have. In the meantime, the zombies find their way into the house and are stomping down the attic stairs. There’s only one bullet left in the gun, with which the guy shoots the first zombie. (zombies don’t die from bullets), and then looks at the gun quizzically and throws it to the side.
The girls run to the kitchen and grab knives and huddle together, crying and screaming. The zombies eat the guy and head towards the girls. As the zombies approach, the girls swing their knives, closing their eyes at the same time — I guess they’re thinking that if they can’t see the zombies, they’ll go away?
Then the zombies eat them too.