Fry Myself

Inspired by the heart-warming true story

The oil calls to me. Not baby oil. Not petroleum. The oil of the fryer.

Deep down in that burbling, bubbling soup of ultrahot peanut oil and tidbits of insanely overcooked chicken is the song of a siren.

It’s so tantalizing—I’ve watched the way it takes a ripe slimy pink drumstick and consumes it, beyond sizzling, beyond infusing. It transforms, like an alchemist, like a magician, like God.

The urge to stick my whole head deep into that boiling abyss is the most intense need I’ve ever felt. My stomach shrinks. My loins grow cold. There’s only the promise of deep-fried beatification.

It’s all I can think about: how delicious the outside of my head would be, how juicy the inside would be preserved. Imagine the crunch of a deep-fried cheek and how tender an eyeball would be. Insane.

I’ll show you all. You thought I wouldn’t be able to do it. You thought there was something pathetic like fear that keeps my head soft instead of crispy-fried.

I’ll do it.

I’m gonna do it.

I’m doing it.

I’m—GRAHHHHHHHBURBLE.

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Start my epic science fiction novel, Six Stars.

Or read another shorty.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash