Another 5 Sentence Fiction!
Don’t know what I mean by that?
Steaming hot food, heaped in porcelain bowls, were set round the table, dainties and spices on little plates between the fragrant mounds. I stood at the doorway, longing to approach the table, but too terrified to act on my hunger. The last vestiges of a concussion, not to mention the bruises along my left ribs, kept me in my place. At the far end of the table, a woman in a June Cleaver apron and high heels looked up at me as she set out a bowl of fruit.
“I’ll feed you – eventually – but only if you’re good,” she said.