Literary Publication: “How to Feed a Monster”

A short story published by The Inquisitive Eater

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Devour it here.

How to Feed a Monster

It’s a common misconception that monsters prefer human flesh and fluids. You’ve been on this planet for some time, you’ve heard the rumors. Vampires and vein draining, ghouls and soul sipping, zombies and brains (or Brians). Sea sirens devouring the hearts of coastline locals who are tired of getting ghosted by online singles. Giant ogres that give entirely new meanings to
the phrase “I’ve got a bone to pick”, as they floss their molars with the adolescent femurs of teenage rebellion. Oh, and that whiny camper around the fire—the one who kept complaining about the ash-to-marshmallow ratio of the smores—you had a feeling he’d be the first one to go
when the Yeti showed up.

“Everyone is out to get me.” This a very typical human philosophy, isn’t it? Have you ever found an unexplained, lone, blue Fruit Loop all the way over on the kitchen windowsill? Ever met a zombie that didn’t love cereal? Ever met a monster at all?

There are monsters devouring junk food—ones that love stale Halloween candies, and others outside the bakery waiting to catch a whiff of doughnuts fresher than sunrise. There are monsters that make their special guacamole for party guests. Yes, they also uncontrollably weep while chopping the onions. And yes, the involuntary tears happen on the inside while purchasing
avocados, because they’re also shocked at the significant rise in price and demand. Don’t even ask about the polarizing opinions on the topic of adding cilantro.

Some monsters are eating the same bland rice dish, for the fourth bland time this week, because they finally checked on the status of their bank account. Sustainable monsters are going vegan. They’re plucking fresh tomatoes from the plant basking in the small sliver of apartment sunlight. Others are caring for beautiful gardens full of herbs and hand-carved birdhouses. There
are brokenhearted monsters that weep into bowls of pasta as the hum of the laundry machine rinses their towels and bedsheets behind them. Daddy monsters are decorating strawberry birthday cakes for five-year-old daughter monsters.

Excited monsters wait by the phone, checking their notifications, hoping that the buzz in their palms and pockets belongs to some special monster—they can’t even eat anything at all. And of course, there’s that one monster who at the end of the day picks up a dollar slice of pizza. Because nothing feels as liberating, or as New York City, as walking briskly down the street with
folded food hanging from your mouth like a second tongue.