Dinner With Francesca

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Greg can't understand what someone like Francesca sees in him.

Submitted: September 06, 2017

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Submitted: September 06, 2017

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Dinner With Francesca.

She was beautiful. Even though she was dressed quite respectably there was something so provocative, seductive, about her. Greg was finding it hard to keep his eyes from staring at her. He still could not understand what a woman like her could possibly see in a guy like himself.

Dinner!” she said, startling him out of his trance.

And there in front of them were steaming bowls of soup. The aroma was.....different! Spicy, hot......no, he could not let his thoughts travel down that road. He picked up his spoon, dipped it in the bowl and took a sip.

There were what he could only presume to be noodles in it. “Minestrone?” he asked.

Not exactly,” Francesca smiled. “This is my very own recipe. You won’t have come across it before.”

Well, it really is quite delicious,” Greg said, spooning more of the soup into his mouth.

It took him a minute or so to realize that Francesca herself was not actually eating the soup, had not even picked up her spoon. And yet there seemed to be some kind of movement taking place in her bowl. As he continued to lift his spoon up and down, from bowl to mouth and back again, his eyes stayed fixed on her bowl.

There was a kind of tang to it now, metallic. It reminded him of......what?

There was a noodle in Francesca’s bowl that appeared to be swimming. Stopping eating, Greg stared at it in a kind of horrified fascination. He felt himself start to choke, his throat to contract, just as the swimmer lifted it’s head to reveal itself as some kind of worm with very sharp teeth. There were lots of them, all swimming around in her bowl. And in his!

The taste.....like when he had four teeth removed at once. Blood! But much stronger than then. And he could feel them now. Biting him from inside; he pushed his chair back from the table, struggled to stand then fell forward, blood trickling from between his lips.

Francesca sat for a moment, inspecting the feast she had provided. Satisfied that she had done a good job she walked to a closed door. She opened it to her guests and welcomed them with a smile. “Dinner is served,” she said.


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