Soup Of The Day

For the past several weeks, my writing group has been doing an exercise at our meetings in which one member brings a mystery object in a bag, and we write a brief vignette after feeling it without looking.  This week’s object turned out to be a pelvis of some sort.  This was my piece:

Hamid ran down the dusty street, clutching his prize to his chest. Despite not having eaten in almost a day, his legs somehow found energy to propel him at a remarkable rate. Mama was going to be so happy! For days they had been dividing a baguette and a moldy onion each morning and not much else all day. The bombs had destroyed every shop within walking distance, and the buses no longer ran. Mama had come home this morning beaming, holding up two carrots and a wilted bunch of celery that she had pulled from an abandoned garden. Now, with his added find, the family would have soup. Just a few years ago, he had played in the park with the neighbor’s dog. Today, after the dog was killed in an air strike, he and his friends had divided it up with surprisingly little wrangling over portions. Tonight they would feast!


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