Bon Appétit

“Maya” traversed around the kitchen with expert skill, baked potatoes in the oven, a pot of rice boiling on the stove. She glided across the kitchen, twirling between the stove, the counter, and the kitchen sink, simultaneously cooking, cleaning, and prepping food. She stared straight ahead as she moved, the only thing on her mind: the steps she needed to take to finish dinner, starting with trimming the fat off the chicken. She lifted the slab of meat out of the packet and let it fall onto the cutting board with a wet slap. She held the knife tight in her right hand, using her left to firmly hold the chicken down with wide spread fingers.  

As she began to slice through the soft pink flesh, a large pair of hands suddenly gripped her waste causing her to jerk, the knife slicing into her index finger. Maya’s husband, Travis placed his lips on her neck as he slid his arms around her pulling her close. She instantly relaxed, careful not to let him feel any tension in her body; she looked down at her finger, skin split, revealing a partially frayed green wire and a fragment of her metal exoskeleton. She quickly slid her hand into her apron pocket as she leaned into Maya’s husband and turned her head to kiss him.  

“Thanks for dinner gorgeous,” Travis mumbled against her lips. 

“You’re welcome sexy,” she said with a soft smile before she added, “Now go relax in the living room and let me finish cooking you dinner.” 

“You spoil me,” he said, smiling back before he retreated. As he did he glanced down and notice a small pool of blood sitting on the floor. “You spilled some chicken blood hon,” he said. 

“Oh.” Chicken blood. “I didn’t even notice.” “Maya” grabbed a paper towel and bent down to wipe up the blood careful to conceal the cut on her finger. 

As she was bent over Travis smacked her butt and grinned with a “Mhm.” 

She waited until he walked pass to stand up before she threw the napkin with the blood into the garbage can. Once alone she once again began to examine her exposed wiring, pinching the skin together attempting to fuse it closed. When that didn’t work she approached the kitchen pantry on the other side of the wall where the first aid kit was kept and opened the door revealing the fresh corpse of the real Maya slumped over on the floor. She stepped over the limp body, careful not to step in the drying blood on the floor, and retrieved a small bandage, wrapping it around her exposure. She then exited the room, closing the door behind her, before she continued moving about the kitchen. 

 She finished trimming the fat off the chicken, seasoned it with parsley and other spices, before searing it in olive oil and butter. She pulled the potatoes out of the oven, drained and seasoned the rice, and distributed food onto two plates. “Maya” once again reached into her apron pocket, but this time she pulled out a small vail filled with a light brown, but tasteless liquid which she dripped onto one of the plates. She replaced the vail into her pocket before grabbing the two meals.  

“Hon dinner’s ready.” 

About the Author

Sierra Beeler is a Senior at UNCC, majoring in Creative Writing and minoring in Film and Women and Gender studies. Forever a daydreamer, Sierra aspires to one day monopolize an entire weeknight with her own slew of TV shows, more popular than anything Shonda Rhimes could make. On the rare occasions when Sierra is not somewhere being obnoxious, you can find her doing one of her many passions: writing, drawing, filming, screeching (also known as singing), etc.
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