Oatmeal
By J. Archer Avary
Listen to a reading of this story by J. Archer Avary:
You wake up and your hands have turned to oatmeal. They are stuck to the bowl you slept in and have hardened to a crust.
You cry out, like:
JESUS CHRIST— WON’T ANYBODY HELP ME?
But nobody hears you. You become sad. Despondent. You cry salt tears into your hands and they soften slightly. You like the taste of salt. It improves almost anything. Your mood improves until you realise your hands are still stuck to the bowl you slept in. Once again you become despondent.
You cry butter tears into your hands and the texture improves. Butter improves almost everything. Your hands have become almost irresistible.
You cry out, like:
JESUS CHRIST— DOES ANYBODY HAVE SOME CINNAMON?
JESUS CHRIST— DOES ANYBODY HAVE ANY RAISINS?
JESUS CHRIST— IS ANYBODY LISTENING?
But nobody hears you. You become frustrated. You shout hot steam morning breath into your hands and they work themselves free from the bowl you slept in. You’re awake. It’s time for breakfast. Your oatmeal is ready.
You cry out, like:
JESUS CHRIST— I FUCKING HATE OATMEAL!
J. Archer Avary (he/him) was born in the USA but now calls the Northeast of England home. He’s a former TV weatherman, champion lionfish hunter, and now a boat captain on the river Tyne. He’s best-known in literary circles as founder/EIC of the much-loved but short-lived Sledgehammer Lit. His poems and stories have been featured in more than 100 literary magazines, including Bullshit Lit, Roi Faineant, JAKE, and Black Stone/White Stone. Right now he’s probably not working on his debut novel. Twitter: @j_archer_avary