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Start or end your story with two people discussing an important matter over a meal.

Posted in Dramatic on Sep 27, 2024

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✍️ 57 stories

Just Like Taylor Swift

Submitted to Contest #270

Just like Taylor Swift “You’ve had it done, haven’t you, you crazy bastard?” said Keller. Mitchell looked across the restaurant table with affirmative eyes. “Show me then,” said Keller. Mitchell placed his tanned hands on the crisp white table cloth, the ringed fingers of the left one drumming lightly as he set himself, before poking the tip of his tongue out at Keller.  The lozenge of flesh was pure white. Mitchell had bleached his most social organ, turning it from a muscular, cave-dwelling tool, into an accessory, an iTongue. His f...

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Adobo

Submitted to Contest #270

Adobo                                         Vickie Riggan                                           1440 words    &nbsp...

15 likes 1 comment 1
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My Dinner With Kathy

Submitted to Contest #270

It was a hot summer night several years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had too many beers. I shouldn’t have been driving. That’s not an excuse, just an explanation. Ralphie shouldn’t have challenged me in the first place, but he did. I was running my mouth about my new Mustang, and I guess it rubbed Ralphie the wrong way. Ralphie said his three-year-old Corvette StingRay would blow the doors off my new Mustang. Callahan’s parking lot was crowded with our peers. All beer drinkers and gearheads. I had to accept. The alcohol made i...

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Frosty Lasagna

Submitted to Contest #270

(Contains mild sexual description of a fantasy base which may trigger some) Frosty LasagnaThe lasagne slowly slides down my fork onto the plate with a loud slap. Everyone is now looking at me with eager expectation in their eyes. What other answer could I possibly give but “yes, yes of course I’d be honoured to cater your wedding”Although I am mortified and broken over what I have recently discovered. I am also happy to have found my mystery customer khiadra.“Ah brilliant thankyou thankyou” shouts the blond waitress, as she practically runs ...

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War and Prayer

Submitted to Contest #270

 War and Prayer The sound of the pumping plunger of the Coleman camp stove gas cannister invades my ears, familiar as the pulse of a pump pressurizing my Sting-Ray bicycle tires, a precursor to adventures to come. I sit at the picnic table holding a fly swatter, posed like a sentinel ready to attack any intruding winged insect that lands on our campground breakfast spot. Uncle Al pumps away on the plunger, then stops and screws it back into the stove’s distinctive red tank. The back of the stove blocks my view of his work, but I hear a ...

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At Dinner: The Scent of Rosemary and Regret

Submitted to Contest #270

Samantha’s rental apartment, was a haven of personal touches and warm colors. Usually, it hummed with the anticipation of intimate dinners and whispered conversations, the soft glow of candlelight dancing on the mismatched china she’d collected over the years. Tonight, however, the air crackled with a tension thicker than the rosemary and garlic scent clinging to the faded floral curtains.David shifted in his chair, the worn wood groaning beneath him like an old man complaining about a long day. He swirled the expensive Cabernet Avignon in h...

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Dinner with Dmitry Morozov

Submitted to Contest #270

There are few secret agents who can compare to Dmitry Morozov, but he had called me to meet him at the Central Park Voorburg in the Hague, Holland. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about, but since I was at a conference on International Law, I told him I would meet him as requested. I had known him when I was an CIA agent during President Kennedy’s failed attempt to assassinate Fidel Castro in Cuba. We met in Havana in September 1963, weeks before Kennedy’s own assassination.“What a knucklehead he and McCone were trying to inva...

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Our Last Night Together

Submitted to Contest #270

I stepped into the restaurant as if I owned every breath of air around me. The click of my heels marked the rhythm of every gaze turning my way. I wore a black silk dress that curved around my body as if tailored by the gods themselves, hugging every slope and contour from the slight dip at my waist to the elegance of my shoulders.The soft candlelight from the restaurant’s lanterns highlighted my alabaster skin and the deep cascade of my dark hair that fell in waves, contrasted with my sharp green eyes.Across the table sat Julian, tousled da...

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Tacos without hot sauce?

Submitted to Contest #270

Bill wondered aloud, " Why did I agree to eat here? I hate tacos." Jack stood at the entrance, holding the door open and gesturing to his friend to come in. His expression totally conveyed his heartfelt desire that Fuzzy Tacos was the right place to be. "Gracious Jack, I thought we would have a serious discussion about my book?" "Bill, this is the perfect place to discuss your concept and audience. It's actually not as loud as it may appear."Jack was always optimistic and had confidence that none of us understood. He was a great critic, Alwa...

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Married Quarters

Submitted to Contest #270

    Phoebe could only fiddle with her food, their first meal together in their first home together. She’d shrugged off the unease she felt on stepping into her husband’s cottage, rented for years whilst he served abroad. Something about it was getting under her skin.    “There’s nothing wrong with this place. Laura talked rubbish about feeling weird round here. Give it time.”    At the mention of his ex-wife, Phoebe looked at her new husband, struggling with his chopsticks before gi...

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Derailed

Submitted to Contest #270

“It’s frustrating,” Maya said, pushing her fork around her plate. “I can spend half an hour laying out an idea, and no one really acknowledges it until a man repeats the same thing. she sat at the long wooden table, surrounded by familiar faces. The ambiance tonight was warm, filled with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware. This was a typical Friday dinner with colleagues, some more seasoned than others, where they would gather around plates of food and talk about their week, bouncing between casual jokes and deeper to...

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Giving Up

Submitted to Contest #270

*Trigger warning: suicide, death, suicidal ideation My fork clatters to the plate as I sit in shock, staring at my mother’s passive expression, unable to believe her demeanor after uttering the words she just dropped on me like my life didn’t suddenly implode. She continues eating her pasta, sets down her fork, and delicately wipes the corner of her mouth before finally looking for my reaction to her casual bombardment.  “Are you joking me, mom?” I ask, exasperated. “You just told me you have three months to live and you’re just going t...

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False Icons for Dinner

Submitted to Contest #270

You are Dace Keller, a paragon of manhood. Because every man that’s ever been, for as long as you’ve known, has wanted to become Dace Keller. You are the model man, which all men that are not Dace Keller aspire to be. You are handsome, and witty. An uncontestable icon of masculinity. You look dashing in a suit and tie, and never trip on your sentences. You keep your nebulously blonde-brown hair at a short trim, maintaining just enough beard growth to still be considered well-groomed but also slightly rugged. You’re lean, and saharan bro...

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A Lavender Brother

Submitted to Contest #270

Marcus Adler's mouth twisted bitterly at his brother across the table. The waiter poured a small portion of wine for him, and as Marcus swished the rich liquid around, sniffed it and tasted it, Jeremiah Adler tapped the table impatiently. More bloodred splashed into the glass after he approved, a small drop running down the cup onto the pristine white tablecloth. At this the waiter frowned, swiping it up with the fabric previously folded by the crook of his arm, taken from its resting place on the smooth black linen that ran down the man's b...

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Right Where You Left Me

Submitted to Contest #270

The cold breeze blowing through the cobbled laneway suddenly picks up, and I clutch at my scarlet coat’s closure with one hand whilst I fight my flapping fringe with the other. I briskly step under the awning of the restaurant and take shelter from the wind behind the elaborate shrubbery bracketing the doorway. Scrutinising my reflection in the window, I make sure my fringe is tamed and twist from side to side to ensure that my French twist is still impeccably intact. It took me far too long to wrestle my chocolate brown hair into this Frenc...

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