‘Delicious!’ I said. Everyone smiled and nodded.
Next was the green soup. Green: health and children. It tasted like grass with seaweed. Which is probably what it was. ‘Mmmh! I like this one, too.’ More smiling and nodding. And a pain in my stomach.
Another soup. There were ‘bits’ in it. Sesame seeds, perhaps, or slivers of snail shell. Five pieces, I counted them. The soup was orange. Was that long life or good hearing? I couldn’t remember. I got another round of smiles when I smacked my lips. The taste was harsh, there was a lot of spice in it. Too much turmeric. Cauliflower and turmeric.
The soups kept coming. I had a blue one. Interesting, but without any detectable taste. Perhaps a shot of cuttlefish ink? Then there was a red one and a purple one. There was no mistaking the meaning of the purple soup. Even if I had been too dense to get it, I would not have been able to ignore the grins of my hosts. It tasted meaty. Mushroom, I decided. Mushroom with beetroot colouring. There was one which was white with a swirl of pink: milk with rose petal. It eased hardship in old age. Brown soup with sparkles: Obedient grandchildren. Another orange. Strength. Carrots and lentils and enough chilli to burn my mouth. I couldn’t taste the next four, the yellow, the pink, the light blue. And the taupe: Thick, full hair or distinguished baldness, depending on gender.
The soups were getting thicker, and though the bowls were tiny, there had been a lot of them. By the time the black one arrived, I was mute in a food coma. I could move my spoon, but that was it. I had to dig into the black one with my spoon. It wobbled. I looked at it uncertainly. Some people like black food. I never have. Not since I saw The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. I sniffed. It smelled sweet, slightly fruity. Like an unripe orange, but without the acidity. I goggled at it. What did black mean? I was too full to fit the whole spoon into my mouth.
I nodded. Carefully so I wouldn’t spill. My hosts smiled at me. What a terrible job. They must be starving. I chewed my ‘soup’ and tried to think. Black. What could it be? It seemed like I’d eaten soups for everything from health to wealth to ingrowing toenails.
I swallowed and my hosts took out their spoons.
Black.
Of course. Payment.
The prompts were:
Soup
harsh
ignore
detect
mute
payment
The two worst sentences in this piece (in my opinion) are, in order:
- Even if I had been too dense to get it, I would not have been able to ignore the grins of my hosts.
- By the time the black one arrived, I was mute in a food coma.
I can’t see any way to save Sentence 1 in accordance with my writing prompt rules. Ideally it should be cut completely but then I’d lose my writing prompt word. I was able to perform some cosmetic surgery on Sentence 2 but in an ideal world the sentence would just read ‘…arrived, I was in a food coma.’
What do you think? Can you think of anything I could have done to improve these sentences, without losing the prompt words and in accordance with my writing prompt rules (no changes except for typos, punctuation and deleting)?
