Flash Friday 17/05/2013: Some Make It Hot
This uses a scene which was intended for Tabasco and Napalm, a silly short story written with collaboration of Tobe from FM Writers. Unfortunately, the story took another twist, so I shall use the scene here. Happy reading!
“I know what you’re like,” Harry said. “I’m not trying any.”
“But it’s ever so nice,” Julie said, placing the meal on the table. “I made it myself. Don’t worry, it’s not too spicy.”
Harry sighed. “You said that with the last curry that you made.”
“You said you liked that curry.”
“I did say that, yes. You even had to make me repeat it because it was hard to hear me while I had my head stuck in a bucket of ice water.”
“The point is, I used less of the spice you disliked in this one.”
Harry dug a spoon into the curry mix, bringing it to his nose. “It does seem that way.”
“But you then added loads more of what smells like ten other spices.”
“Oh, well, you know.” Julie gave a wry shrug. “Got to substitute it somehow. Just give it a try, it’ll be fine.”
“You said that last time.”
“I won’t make another one if you don’t like it.”
“You said that last time, too.”
“One more try. Look, I’ll even make it easy for you.” She dug her own spoon into the curry, taking a meat chunk along for the ride. “Open wide, here comes the aeroplane.”
The general findings of Pavlov’s Dog is that, when exposed to a stimuli continuous times, a response becomes involuntary. Being a picky eater as a child, any reference to an aeroplane going anywhere made his jaw drop like a shark at an all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant. Before he knew it, the payload had been delivered, the spoon dug deep within his mouth.
The eyes watered before the spice even hit.
One thing you need to know about Satan before you meet him is that he, too, has his passions. He’ll often start conversations about his job, what he gets up to, tells that one story about how he was a snake and the kind of dares he got two people to do. If you stick with him, however, as the alcohol in his bottle starts to run dry and his speech becomes sloppier than watered-down mince, he’ll tell you that one thing he keeps stable is that his realm is the hottest place in existence. It was his life work, so to speak.
You can see why, then, why he looked over his paper on a lazy Sunday afternoon (it was always afternoon — the flames of inferno made a nice orange glow to the skyline) to look at the flashing LED on his control panel, alongside a rhythmic beeping sound. Someone — somewhere, and somehow — had managed to achieve a temperature hotter than one that could sear even souls.
Satan gave a snort, turning back to his paper. He had a lot of money, a harem of succubi, an army of sharp-tongued persuaders and a plethora of power-granting rewards. If all else fails, however, he still had his armoury of torture devices. The knowledge on how to achieve such a heat would be his.
Maybe on a weekday, he thought, turning to the funnies page.
“Never again,” Harry said, his voice muffled from the duvet over his head. “Never, ever again.”
“If I refine the recipe–”
“No.” Harry shuffled into a foetus position. “No refining. Just take the rest of the curry and dump it wherever they put nuclear waste these days. I’m sure it’d have good company.”
“That’s a shame. It tasted alright, though, right?”
“I’m not sure. I couldn’t pick out the subtle use of spices and the tang of the meat through the taste of burning.”
“Aww.” Julie patted the lump under the covers. “I’ll just use less spice next time. Maybe then, you’ll finally become a curry fan.”
“I don’t know,” Harry said to Julie as she left the bedroom. “I guess I’ll be a fan of every food when my tongue is a blackened stump.”