Your Order’s Up – 147 words

He waffled between hanging on and jumping off.

He’d been angry, so angry, for so long, it was almost as if he didn’t know how to feel any other way.

Except numb. Numbness was a relief, actually, far preferable to the roiling emotions that left him unable to function, unable to live among others for any length of time.

He could end it, here. Step off into anonymity, into obscurity.

He’d never have to face another screaming protest, another demand for retribution, another order sent back for the third time.

It had been his secret, all these years: he couldn’t read. He made it up as he went, combining ingredients in whatever way he saw fit, train to train, job to job.

Only this time, it wasn’t just the people revolting. This time, the food was rising up. That last batch had threatened to kill him. Literally.

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Bwah ha ha. After a very silly NaNoWriMo Kick-Off party, a number of us who also write for Flash Friday decided we needed to incorporate “angry waffles” in our next flash story, regardless of what the photo prompt was. Luckily for us, it fed right into our goofy plans, and so I offer you my homage to disgruntled breakfast foods.