Here’s another piece of 20-minunte writing fiction (20 minutes, no changes allowed during editing except fixing typos, puntuation and deleting). The prompt was the above photo and the title (Hate), courtesy of my usual random word generator.
Enjoy!
…hate.”
Marthe stood behind the curtain.
The men were in the dining room; her husband; the General; his aide and soldiers.
A wisp of hair tickled her cheek. She pushed through the curtain into the dining room.
They sat with glasses of aperitif. The General was pulled up right in front of the flames, his face rosy, his neck sweating around the stubble of his shaved neck. His men, twenty years younger—this would be their first war—were all handsome. Strong limbs, tidy uniforms and open faces. The General’s aide jumped up and helped move plates aside for her to put the casserole dish down.
The casserole was full of meat. A present from the Germans, as was the aperitif they were drinking. The dining room, which had been their youngest’s bedroom until he had been taken prisoner, was crowded with the table, the chairs and the men around the fire.
“It smells delicious,” said the General.
Marthe nodded acknowledgement.
“We are lucky to be here in such a comfortable home, with such a fine cook.” His men slapped their thighs in agreement. The silver ladle clattered against the casserole dish.
After they had eaten the first few bites, the General piped up again. He drank too much. But the last lot had pissed in the garden and eaten everything in the house without buying back.
“We were talking about the hostility in the town. The General spoke directly to Marthe.
“It’s understandable,” said Marthe. All eyes were on her. “A lot of people have suffered. Things are not easy.”
“But we sit here together – all friends! I don’t see why people are hostile. There’s a war in Germany, too. Throughout Europe, in fact. You French have come out rather well!”
“The thing about hate…” Marthe speared a piece of ham and held it up as she thought. “…it’s not rational. People hate what they hate. Or what they are afraid of.”
“Surely you are not afraid of us?” said the General.
Her son, her neighbours who had been rounded up as Communists and Jews, the shortages that made her accept his food. “Not afraid, no.”
