The fava beans quivered in their plastic bag prison, and the onions and bell peppers huddled closer to them for warmth. The vegetarian mistress of murder left neither carrot with intact skins nor any cabbage whole. Despite their attempt to hide in the back of the bin, the yams had been unceremoniously taken away just a few moments ago. By the time the remaining vegetables adjusted to the piercing white light that blinded them through the open door, they were sunk once more into blackness, the drawer slid neatly into place. The yams, a lovely couple from a farm in Iowa, were gone.
The vegetables inched backwards as they heard the soft thwack, thwack as a knife struck a whetstone, seeking a hiding spot that was no longer there. If the slayer of the salad was sharpening her knives, it could only mean that they were approaching the time of the Great Purge. Everything must go to make room for a new batch of helpless vegetable victims. Just yesterday, it had been easy to hide among the broccoli and the beets, but they had been sacrificed to this chef’s insatiable desire for produce.
A sudden pop and the vegetables were once again surrounded by blinding light. Annabelle Lecter opened the vegetable bin roughly, bouncing the onions off the bell peppers and sending them twirling across the floor. She grabbed the bag of fava beans and carried them to the counter next to the remains of the yams. They had been skinned; their bright orange flesh lay exposed on the cutting board. The fava beans began to tremble, and like atoms packed tightly together, each adjacent bean took up the shuddering of its neighbor. Annabelle smiled ruefully as the bag shook in her hand and she plucked out one of the fava beans. To the horror of its brethren, she snapped off the end.
“I think you would taste nice with tofu and a glass of Chianti,” she said.
The other fava beans were beheaded in turn and added to the steaming skillet on the stove. It wasn’t long before the vegetable bin was empty; the bodies of the diced onions and peppers covered with oil and unceremoniously sautéed for her pleasure.
Annabelle took a bite, savoring her meal, wondering which she enjoyed more: the weekly cleanout of her fridge or the anticipation of the new set of victims available at her local farmer’s market.
©2016 the author — Published electronically at DigitalFictionPub.com. You may link to or share this post with full and proper attribution; however, the author retains the complete and unrestricted copyright to this work. Commercial use or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Join the Digital Fiction Pub newsletter for infrequent updates, new release discounts, and more: http://digitalfictionpub.com/blog/join-the-digital-fiction-pub-newsletter/