Flash Fiction
OVEN By John Oliver Hodges
Caroline knows that when her belly growls, Larry knows that his knobs will be fingered, that he will grow hot inside, that a pepperoni pizza or crème brulèe, maybe even a late night meatloaf, will be produced with his help. The growl is what Larry most loves to hear, Caroline thinks, and squats beside him close and intimate. “Hear it?” she says. Caroline fingers Larry’s racks, turns him on. As she stuffs him full of Idaho potatoes, she sings to Larry. Caroline eats her baked potatoes while watching the Monday Night Movie, just an awful movie. Her potatoes are drenched with butter, and very delicious, but when she finishes eating, she feels sick. She should not have eaten so much. Why does this always happen? Caroline doesn’t know. She needs to put smaller portions on her plate. Caroline needs help. She isn’t obese, but still. She decides to do something about it, so goes to Overeaters Anonymous. “My name is Caroline,” Caroline says, “and I am an overeater.” She tells these people that she speaks to her oven, that she calls him Larry and that his knobs are shiny and black and that she doesn’t clean his glass because the burn marks around his corners give him character. Atticus Review│Get Lit: Round 1
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