I was ordered to kill my best friend. But how could I?
Monkey and I were a team. We played games and made promises together. Both of us wanted to go to Africa and explore the jungles; Monkey wanted to meet real monkeys and study them, I just wanted to travel.
I remembered the first time we met; I was helping mom get the groceries out the car when I saw him sitting in the backseat next to a sack of potatoes. He said his name was Ruty, Rutta, or something like that I can’t remember. I just knew I could never pronounce it so I decided to say Monkey instead. He didn’t mind, in fact I think he liked it.
From that moment on, Monkey and I became inseparable. Just thirty minutes before, Monkey and I fell asleep on the couch watching The Little Mermaid. Now, here I was sitting at the kitchen table looking into the face of my best friend, as I tried desperately to maintain my balance in my seat.
“Honey, just eat the rutabaga.”
I stared down at my plate, where my best friend laid in pieces on my plate, smothered in butter and garlic. I stayed that way until my vision blurred and I wasn’t able to make out the pieces on my plate. Slowly I reached for my fork and stabbed randomly at my plate before slowly bring him to my lips and devouring him.
With tears burning in my eyes I consumed my best friend. He was delicious, but forbidden fruit always tasted good. Or vegetable.
My father looked over at my mom with confusion clouding his brown eyes. “Did I miss something?”
My mom said nothing as she got up from the table, grabbed the dish from the table and threw it in the trash.