Salt or ketchup is usually a pretty straightforward question.
Both, right?
Not if you are forced on the regular, like I am, to play a macabre game of Would You Rather. Please enjoy this writing warm-up in the guise of a poem.
I am working on the siren-inspired horror short. I’m at about 1000 words and am still not entirely happy with it. Never fear, I will be happy with it eventually, and it will materialize in your inbox soon.
Salt or Ketchup?
“Would you rather…”
she muses, eyes twinkling,
gripping her bloody canine that just fell out.
Flashing me a gapped grin,
her tongue slips into the new vacancy.
Groaning, I shake my head in protest.
A mischievous lift of an eyebrow
follows a thrust of her tooth toward me
and her favorite refrain,
“Would you rather…
eat ground up teeth as salt…
OR
ketchup made of human blood?"
“Neither.”
She cackles.
“You have to pick one.”
“Do I? I didn’t sign a contract.”
“That’s the game.”
I sigh, resistance futile.
“Once or forever?”
“For. Th…