"Picnic" by Deborah Cullins Smith

Word Count: 252
Fantasy




There were problems with this new church, but Susan was confident that the debates and arguments would stop soon and everyone would learn to get along together.
  
With sodas tucked into the old oak basket, she began to pull out the ingredients for potato salad. She dumped five pounds of potatoes in the pot of boiling water, while she assembled a variety of ingredients.

Suddenly a commotion broke out in the pot!

“Why should we be the only ones who get dunked in boiling water?” the potatoes wailed. “We want OUT!”

They cried loudly as their brown skin crackled, their insides softening.

The pickles wiggled under Susan's paring knife.

“We don’t want to be in the same dish with those mushy taters! Why can’t they be hard and crunchy like us?” they demanded in vinegary tones.

Mustard resented being a minority amidst the mounds of snowy mayonnaise. Mayonnaise reacted with flagrant rancor at being used to blend all the other ingredients together smoothly.

“Why do I have to cover all their tartness and sharpness?” Mayonnaise moaned.

Paprika didn’t like onion salt’s tangy bite, and onion salt disapproved of paprika’s vivid red color. Bacon bits screamed bitterly at the sharp smell of chives, while chives hinted haughtily at bacon’s origins.

Susan sighed at the senseless complaints and bitter dissension. Together, the tastes and smells would have blended in an anthem of sublime harmony. Sadly, she returned the unhappy rivals to their cupboards and turned off the stove.

“Maybe I’ll make butterscotch pudding instead.”