Love, Colonel Sanders

Part III: The flashback

he heard his name one last time....

"Colonel?" A voice called. The man looked up to see another buff man gently yet firmly holding a wet handkerchief against his forehead. It felt safe like the man was surrounded by comfort.

"Yeah?" Colonel Sanders, weakly. He sat up and looked around the small kitchen. It felt familiar and a pure epitome of American homestyle cooking. "What happened?"

"You passed out when you were trying to cook" The buff man said, helping Colonel Sanders up to a chair so he could see him better. "You were up all day and night, just slaving over the stove. I was worried about you"

"I don't remember much," Colonel Sanders said, exhausted. He looked towards the man as a cup of water was thrusted into his hands. "I feel kinda sick, Pete"

"It's probably because you've been starving yourself off of human blood" Pete said, looking towards the Colonel with a concerned look on his face. Pete was his name. And his name is Colonel Sanders, a poor lawyer in the middle of the great depression, working as a chef.

"Oh" Colonel Sanders said. "I guess I haven't"

After a long silence, Pete sat up and gave Colonel Sanders a clasp pat on the shoulder. He stood up and peered into the pot which Colonel Sanders was using to cook and tasted the substance.

"Garlic?" Pete asked with anger, disappointment and concern in his voice. "You know that hurts you, Sanders. Why would you even?"

"I'm trying to build an immunity to it. If I built an immunity to sunlight, I can probably build one for garlic! Then I can..."

"Sanders..."

"I know."

"You only need to work hard"

"Bullshit!" Colonel Sanders shouted, slamming his fist against the table. Pete stepped forwards in concern. "I'll never get as good as I did with italian food! I'll never make a better fried chicken than you, Pete"

The two buff men sat in silence. Colonel Sanders looked away in shame despite the light being turned down so dim you could barely see the outline of the other. Pete, sighing, flicked on the oil lamp and moved closer to Colonel Sanders. Pete gently caressed Colonel Sander's cheek and moved the Colonels face to face him.

"Sanders, I'll share the recipe with you" Pete said, softly and slowly. Colonel Sanders looked deeply in Pete's eyes and retracted when he realized what Pete had proposed. Pete continued. "We'll be business partners. And, after we get out of this shell, we'll make our own business together. And after our business takes off, we'll share it with the world and it will become a staple in every American house."

"No way. But that's your recipe." Colonel Sanders said in total disbelief. "Will you really? And then we can get out of this shell together?"

"Yes. I-" Pete hesitated, the words on his tongue. "I care about you"

There was a comfortable silence. Both knew what it meant both knew they could never be together. Pete extinguished the light and pulled Colonel Sanders close, whispering the secret 11 spices in which had found to result in the most perfect golden fried chicken found only through years of hard work. Not too long after, Colonel stood in the same place, now a hollow shell, void of feeling, licking the splattered human blood off his pistol. He had asked to remain alone with the shell of his friend, now with a bullet wound shot clean through his heart. The other business man had started the shoot out and Colonel Sanders ended it, placing all blame on the competitor for the death of his friend which locked them away and arising with the recipe of the most perfect, crunchy, golden chicken and no competitors. He looked down cast towards the body, crumpled on the ground.

"I'm sorry Pete. The competition was too much. I just couldn't. I had a plan, it was for us." Colonel Sanders said, looking away from the body. Eventually, he turned towards the body and sat awkwardly next to the empty shell with the gun still in hand. "I was gonna lose you later anyways. I lost everyone else so soon. I-" Colonel Sanders stopped, feeling himself becoming emotional. He stood up and shoved the gun in the pocket of his apron. It was cold against his chest. "Anyways, I thank you for your hard work to get the recipe...Pete Morris., I'll be taking it from here and no one will find out what the spices are"

 ...Colonel Sanders finally awoke.