You Are What You Eat


Bernice Kilduff White & John White Creative Writing Prize Award Winner

A man and his wife sat at the dinner table. The food on their plates breathed steam and

looked up at them with sad eyes.

“I want a divorce,” the woman said.

“I can change. Let me change.”

“Fine, but do it quickly.”

The man pierced the steak with his fork and knife; blood oozed out like a river. One of his legs fell off and landed on the floor. He cut the steak again and his other leg detached and toppled sideways.

“I’m waiting,” the woman said.

He continued to cut, losing body parts until only his head, floating in midair, remained. He started eating the meat. A tingling sensation flowed through him as his body came back together in the form of a giant steak.

“You look delicious,” the woman said. “I can’t believe I ever wanted a divorce.”

The man leaned toward her for a kiss.

“You smell like meat,” she said. “I can’t be married to someone who smells like that.”

“I can change. Let me change. I’ll just eat something else.”

He grabbed a scoop of mashed potatoes with his meaty hands and ate it.

He felt the tingling sensation again and fell off his chair with a plop. His face swirled around in the gooey puddle of mashed potatoes he had become. One of his eyes slid across the dining room floor.

“Look what you did to the carpet,” the woman said. “How can I be with a man who has no regard for the cleanliness of the house?”

“Give me another chance. I’ll eat something else.”

The man began chewing on a piece of asparagus and immediately sprung up from the floor. He was a stalk of asparagus as tall as the ceiling.

“I hate asparagus. How can I stay with a husband I despise?”

“But there’s nothing left for me to eat.”

She got up from the table and walked out of the room with her human legs.

The man looked down at his plate, which was still full of steaming food. He pushed it away in disgust.