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The Last Supper? |
| Written by Matthew Daniel Carter | |
| Tuesday, 15 July 2008 | |
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Mike painstakingly set the table. Knife, fork, spoon. Or is it spoon, fork, knife? Oh, well. It's not like they're going to be picky. Folding the napkins into triangles, Mike strategically placed them within reach of his soon-to-be guests. His wife's favorite china adorned the long, antique table, and two decorative vases filled with fresh flowers were placed at both ends. Mike stepped back to look at the finished work. He knew his wife would have found a hundred things out of place, but he thanked God that she wasn't going to be present for the sumptuous feast. Or was she? Oh, well, that didn't matter either. The doorbell rang. Mike answered the door and greeted the guests who began filing in two at a time. It wasn't long before all the seats at the dining room table were taken. Mike hoped they would be impressed with the food. After all, he did slave in the kitchen all day. He and his wife, Karen, were new homeowners in the upscale neighborhood located just outside Portland, Oregon. Karen worked into the wee hours of the morning and Mike had his suspicions why. After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, Nancy Alverson asked, "So, where's your wife?" God, I hate it when people ask me that. "She works very late." "Well, my dear. You have to tell me the recipe, it's to die for!" "Uhh. . . You'll have to ask Karen." Having eaten and filled their bellies, the guests slowly began filing out of the house two by two. When everyone was gone, Mike began stacking the china and bringing them into the kitchen. Placing the dirty plates beside the sink, he opened the oven. Pulling out the bag from wihin and looking inside, Mike suddenly began to get very worried. Now, what the hell am I supposed to do with the bones? Copyright 2008 Matthew Daniel Carter |
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 15 July 2008 ) |
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