Ficly

Hunger Pain

The natives are restless. So am I.

It’s closing time at the Starlight and as usual Tom is taking his sweet time picking a meal. It took me three seconds and I’m the most indecisive person I know.

Check that. Tom is way worse.

“You’re options are limited,” I say. “Why is it taking so long?”

Because my options are limited." Tom ignores the irritated hiss from the line behind us. That takes bearings of cast iron.

“That makes no sense. You have a brain the size of the Death Star! You solve differential equations in your sleep!”

“Flattery gains nothing.”

Seconds tick by like hours. Torches and pitchforks are moments from materializing. I glance at the line of hopeful patrons. Wow, that girl is pretty. Pretty annoyed too.

“I’ll have the WD-40.” Tom grins. “Classic.”

“It took ten minutes to pick that?” I look at the pretty girl. “Robots. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t destroy ‘em.”

Tom’s optics darken. “Not if you wanna avoid the robot invasion.”

I think he’s joking. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

View this story's 2 comments.