Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Prompt: The Last Piece of Bacon

Note: I’m convinced that writing humor is a natural gift. And I don’t have it. Please, write a funny response to this prompt and share it in the comments!

I still dream about bacon sometimes.

Usually early in the morning, when I’m dozing, sometimes almost awake, but not quite. When, before, on the weekends, Marie would get up before me and start cooking a big brunch. And when I finally got up—reluctantly disturbing Mitzey from purring, tucked in the crook of my arm--we’d lie on the sofa and sip coffee and trade videos and news stories and cat memes and bites of pancakes, or omelettes, or Belgian waffles. And bacon. Always bacon. Marie made it even better than my Mom, but I never told Mom that.

When the AgriPurists released their manifesto and “promised” to change things for the better – since the politicos were so clearly unable to do so – frankly, they had a lot of support. I even thought they had some valid points, but I knew from the get-go that their kind of rabid thinking led to ill-advised action. I never expected Marie to fall in with them. Didn’t expect to come home and find the apartment empty of all her stuff, either. She even took the Belgian waffle maker. At least she left Mitzey, who she always did say was my cat.

The tide turned quickly though, after the AgriPurists released the NeoSwine Virus in the Southeast. It spread like wildfire, laying waste to entire pig farms in a matter of weeks. When it hit the water systems, we found out how deadly it was to just about every animal but humans. I didn’t cry when Marie left, but I cried like a little kid when I woke up and found Mitzey.

So now we’re all vegetarian – vegan even – by force. I’ve learned to cook a lot of Indian food. And a few Thai dishes. But every once in awhile, before I’m quite awake, I could swear I smell the most divine scent wafting in from the kitchen. I try not to wake up. As long as I don’t move, I can almost believe Mitzey’s curled up in the crook of my arm, purring with her tail flicking idly against my fingers, and Marie has a pot of coffee brewing, and eggs and bacon sizzling in her cast-iron skillet.

Mmmm, bacon…


And so, with a loving heart, I offer you
I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House

Music Playing
 George Winston, Autumn

Time writing
 40 minutes

September word count


  1. Writing report:
    Novel editing, Ch 34
    Time: 40 minutes

  2. I'm afraid I don't have the gift of humour either. I get the sense you are drawn more towards haunting tales and tragedies. I think I may be, too...