Past bedtime, Sally hunches over her plate, poking long claw-like fried okras. The only vegetable Mom can grow. “Why cook them whole?” Sally whispers. “They’re witch fingers.”
Mom dries the iron skillet, glancing over shoulder. “Chop up that okra, eat it! He won’t let you up till you do.”
Near Sally’s shoe, her dog Rex spits up okra slime.
Sal pours ketchup, making her okra into bloody fingers.
“I’m coming,” Dad yells from the den. “If I have to, I’ll stuff okra down your throat!”
Sally shoves hairy okra chunks in her mouth, gagging. She can’t swallow it anymore.
Nicole Brogdon is a trauma therapist in Austin TX interested in strugglers and stories everywhere. Her flash fiction appears in Flash Frontier, 101Words, Microfiction Monday, Dribble Drabble Review, and elsewhere.
The Centifictionist 
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