Flash Fiction: My Dinner, Andre

by Chris McGinty

Ben was writing a screenplay with his friend Andre. It started out going well enough. They brainstormed some ideas. They laughed about some of the clich├ęs they thought about using but ultimately rejected, like the jump scares, the virgin survivor, and the corny one-liners spoken by the killer.

It was all fun and games, until it was time to write the damn thing. Ben wanted it to be a 50/50 effort where both of them were bringing ideas to the table, but his Andre seemed to only reject ideas.

“It seems to me that you must have some really good ideas if you’re rejecting all of mine.”

“I have some of the best ideas, but I want to write them out before I show you.”

This went on for a while. Ben would often ask to just see what his Andre had written, but Andre kept making excuses about context and proper setup.

One day, Ben suggested that they get together to talk about the project. Andre reluctantly agreed with the understanding that Ben wasn’t going to spend the entire time yelling at him.

“Oh, I won’t yell,” Ben said.

They got together for lunch and talked after ordering drinks.

“I need to know what all of your ideas are for the project.”

“Shouldn’t we order food first?”

“It depends on if you tell me your ideas or not.”

Andre looked at him with what seemed to be an edge of superiority. Finally, he spoke.

“Listen, I really do have great ideas. If you want to learn what they are, you’ll have to wait.”

Ben took a drink of his soda, “I really won’t have to wait.”

Ben reached up and unhinged his jaw. Andre’s mouth dropped open so wide that you would think he had followed suit. Ben sprung, and in less than a minute he devoured Andre’s body absorbing it and all of his thoughts into himself. Ben sat back down and burped. As he digested, he saw the shocked restaurant staff looking at him, possibly all losing their sanity in that moment.

He said, “To be fair, my friend was right. He had some great ideas for the screenplay.”

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