AN EMPTY STOMACH -Flash Fiction

He ignores his pain as he flips the burger on the grill, the meat sizzling as hot grease splatters.

Using his muscle, he mashes the potatoes smooth, without lumps, stirring in parsley and garlic.

The blanched asparagus broils, sprinkled with parmesan cheese.

He paints butter on his hot fresh rolls with an artist's stroke, still steaming from the oven.

The savory smell of dinner tortures him.

China, silver, and linen adorn the table.

After the other's feast, he carries everything back to the kitchen and carefully washes the ware, hand drying each piece.

With the lights off, he leaves the kitchen.

He takes the long walk home in the dark as he pulls his thin jacket tighter around him, insufficient for the cold.

His stomach screams at him for his turn to eat.

At home, he mixes the government-dehydrated milk into a froth and pours it on the slice of stale bread. He consumes his only meal of the day and climbs into bed for five hours of sleep. He will arise before the sun and make the long walk to his employer's mansion. He will do it all again as he ignores the pain in his stomach.