Bawk Dark

By

Michael C. Jessen

New cooks bubble a disquiet intention.

“Tada, I did it! Stews, soups, with sea salt, lentils, and vegetables… The Chef Masters will be so pleased.”

“Aw, way to go Angelo, I too am all smiles… What about you Amy?”

Silent, deathly awkward Amy Adams stares distantly at her dark pool of nothing.

“I… uh…I” Amy sputters, sniffing the sour broth, which hints of deathly becomings.

“Amy Adams! Is that… Is that your assigned soup, girl?!” The Head Chef asks.

“I.. yes… I don’t…”

“Well let’s try it then, silly girl,” the Head Chef says, hovering a spoon overtop, and squinting sharply at the dark liquid.

Suddenly, in a flurry of black, flapping wings, two living chickens rise frantically from the dark ebony soup.

“Egad, what on earth…. Mystic Amy Adams magic untamed?” The obviously flustered Head Chef says, waving and twiddling his wings, as feathers flew free and chickens soared.

All other junior chefs gaped in apparent merriment.

“Great god, girl, you created living chickens from nothing,” the Head Chef says amused. “Let’s process these Wilde beasts, into our next course or assignment…. Shall we?”

Many flashing, sharp knives flow out.

Ominously, four pale green eyes stared deadly promise on the team.

Suddenly, dire feathers fluttering as dire end, attacked the chefs, with an odd sheen biting from their open beaks.

“Amy?… Whaat?” The bloodied, falling Head Chef mutters.

More junior chefs fall feebly, their once eager knives falling free.

So soon, with death invites soaring, the supernatural chickens vanished.

Soon after, a stunned Amy Adams organized her things and shrugged emptily and left.