Thanks to Sue Vincent of The Daily Echo for her Thursday #writephoto prompt.
“Eat your dinner.” Mogreth’s father wagged a half-eaten leg bone at the meat sizzling on the flames.
“I’m not hungry.” Mogreth slumped on the log bench.
“Your mother’s testing a new marinade. The least you can do is try it.”
Mogreth watched his mother gnaw on a thigh bone. Last night, she cooked a rump roast that his father gobbled without taking a breath. Tomorrow, she would probably grill ribs slathered in fat. Maybe stir up a meaty stew with grisly leftovers and giblets. Mogreth wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Why can’t we steam some broccoli or cauliflower?”
“Vegetables are horrible for your health,” his mother said. “Have you ever considered the havoc they wreak on your digestion?”
“Disgusting,” his father muttered and tossed the bone over his shoulder into the growing pile.
Continue reading here: Going Hungry