The meat sizzled on the grill. Ben watched with rumbling stomach and drooling lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced at the cockatrice. "Now?"
The cockatrice nodded.
Ben slid the spatula beneath the sliver of goat and flopped it precariously onto a plate. It tilted over the edge of the grill's shelf.
With a hiss, the imp snapped his fingers. The slice of meat hung suspended in the air. The plate centimeters from shattering against the stones. The imp glared at Ben. "Even when you get it right, you're determined to fail."
Ben hung his head.
The cockatrice nuzzled its head against Ben's leg.
Ben shrugged. "Shall I get the rest?"
The imp returned the plate and the goat to the shelf. "Might as well enjoy a last meal, kid."
Ben piled the goat onto the plate and carried it into the house. "Ready?"
The witch sat with the goblin. Both held their silverware pointed upward.
"Hurry." The goblin licked its lips. "I haven't eaten since before we stumbled into that tree. The first time." The goblin eyed the witch.
The witch nodded. "If you'd taken any longer, I'd have broken into my eye of newt stash."
The imp groaned. "Last time, she went on a three day bender. You've no idea how hard it is to wean a witch off newt eyes."
Ben deposited the plate at the center of the table. A salad bowl drifted from the kitchen counter to rest beside the goat meat plate. Baked beans flew from the fireplace in a thick cauldron. Ben dove out of the way.
The goblin stood on its chair and reached across the table, spooning a mountain of food onto his plate. He grinned at Ben. "First come, first full."
#
After the meal, the goblin leaned back in its chair with its eyes closed and its hands resting on its stomach. The goblin smiled, exposing hunks of meat caught between its teeth.
Ben frowned and looked away. He tossed a final scrap of goat to the cockatrice. The cockatrice leapt into the air and caught it, swallowing it in one gulp.
The witch stood and, with a wave of her hand, watched the dirty dished float through the air and begin washing themselves. The sink pumped water and the soap dripped itself into the basin. The witch sighed, brushing her hands together. "Done and done."
"Now what?" Ben asked.
The imp opened one eye. "Dessert?"
The cockatrice warbled, a warning tone.
Ben shook his head. "I'm so full, I–"
"It's impolite to refuse," the goblin interrupted. It leaned forward. "What do you suggest?"
YOU ARE READING
Ben's Hen
FantasyIn a world ruled by dragons, one boy hatches a cockatrice on a whim. His mother wants to destroy it, but he loves it. *I'm open to suggestions* I write the story, but you help shape it. It's a bit of an experimental "Choose Your Own Adventure".
