A Tale of Two Sissies
“Come on boys, eat your food.”
“Ah, Mom . . . .” Brian and Billy whined in unison. “Do we have to?”
“Your father works hard to feed us. You want to grow up big and strong like him, don’t you?”
“But it smells awful,” said Brian.
“And it taste raw—like it needs to ripen some more,” added Billy.
“There’s nothing wrong with this food,” said Mom. “You can’t go play until you finish your meal.”
“Why do we have the same thing every Friday?” Billy choked back the tears.
“Because Friday’s the day when most Fictioneers get run over by the prompt.”