Dinner For None

With the late evening sun dipping below the distant horizon, I knew that the time to act was now. The brothers had been jamming for hours and there was only so much acoustic guitar and accordion that one could take. This was beside the point however, as they were undoubtedly playing their finale. A wretched moonshine inspired rendition of Danse Macabre by French composer Camille Saint-Saëns. The same tune they’d finished with last Friday before devouring my dear sister. Unfortunately, spaghetti al pollo was becoming a weekly favorite for these despicable humans. With a trimmed beak and cruel inability to fly, I was left with few tools with which to stave off my demise. This situation called for some ingenuity.

The freshly cooked pasta sat atop a Tuscan red-tiled table and was guarded by the picture frame the brothers had purchased for the lone reason that the insert reminded them of the Italian family who’d elected to cut ties with them long ago. That was, after the drinking, the gambling, and the murders. If I were to live another day and lay another egg, I would need to give that spaghetti the most foul and unsavoury topping imaginable.

With Danse Macabre’s haunting melody wafting in the warm summer breeze, I leapt on the table, perched on the edge of the pasta bowl, and garnished the dish with the most exotic of greenish-brown sauces. Bon appétit boys!