A flash in the pan

Anyone sane would have regarded the matter as a selfish act. And if they didn’t, the piles of paper in front of the door, just begging to be ripped into pieces, would convince them. Or maybe, the angry mob with weapons of all sorts would.

But we were not sane.

The idea itself had seemed impossible at the time. To be in charge of food supply for the one organization that caused terror in the name of their faith. Initially, everyone had questioned how. And slowly, the universe started giving us the answers.

We lured them in, we allowed them to believe we were of the same faith; that we believed in what they believed in, whatever that may mean. We told them the only way we could contribute best, however, was with food

We convinced them that we were all cooks; we all had experience in numerous places.

And when they asked us why, our reply was simple: to help.

They believed us.

So for the first week, we did supply them with food. The best food we could create, with recipes new and old. We served them all three meals, with uncountable snacks in between.

They liked us.

Their fancy reached its peak as we signed a contract which stated that we would be in charge of their food supply every day for the next few years. They cheered as we agreed, smiling. When they were done congratulating us, thanking us, then we got started on the real plan.

They came in the dining room, happy, after a long day of slaughter. They told us all about it, how they sliced the throat of the man who wrote about the war. How they took what they wanted. How the killed who they wanted.

We smiled at them, serving the regular supper one by one. We smiled at them, and they in return showed their teeth, too. They asked us what they would be eating for that night, to which we only replied with a smile and a wink.

We waited as they ate. We made sure to add any food they wanted. We made sure their glasses were never empty. We reassured them that there was enough food for a thousand more men if needed, and they were pleased to hear this.
  

At the end of the night, like clockwork, their heads fell on the table.

We ran, as fast as we could, through anyone that tried to stop us.

So here we were, smiling, in a circle. In the same room that had initially started our success. We were waiting.

We waited for whomever to come in, with any type of firepower they possessed. We waited for the door to be knocked down, to be shot through.

We waited, smiles still plastered on our faces as we shared the same meal we had served them, because we knew that we had succeeded. 


Katya Tjahaja