When I twisted the pepper mill, he twitched.
Winced as though physically hurt as I battered scarlet chili into fragrant dust.
“Not for me.” He whined, hand clasped to his eternal heartburn, like a histrionic amateur actor.
“Not for me.” In restaurants, he waved away waiters bearing spiced pastes and elaborate pickles. At bedtime, he crunched a cocktail of antacids.
Now I am free from his bland demands.
Alone in my kitchen, I sprinkle and spice. Inhale the fug rising from the pan, a swirl of scents stirring my taste buds.
Finish with a triumphant twist of pepper.
Denise Bayes writes flash fiction and short stories. Words have appeared in NZ Micro Madness, Retreat West, Free Flash Fiction, Oxford Flash, 100 Word Stories, Ellipsis Zine, Firewords, 100 Word Project, and Roi Fainéant Press. Originally from the North of England, Denise lives in Barcelona, Spain. Tweets at @DeniseBayes.
The Centifictionist 
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