Short Story

The Silence

Photo courtesy of Michelle Weber.


“How many dead?” asked officer Earl. “Fifty three, sir”, replied the policeman.

He just nodded and went in.

Victor didn’t like being in kitchen. It made him all sweaty, oily and cranky. He wondered how people would work in a place like this. For him it just felt like a prison. But when you are a son of the most famous chef in the world, things are expected from you. Especially when your father is said to be the greatest chef that ever lived, a legend indeed. For him it was just a curse. He hated it. All the wealth, the fame, the recognition, he hated it all. But now he had no choice. He was going to cook alongside his father. For the world, Renard King was the best teacher there ever can be, but for him, he was a man who had failed at being his father. Tomorrow was going to be the first day and it was going to be a long one, so he just wanted to get some sleep. Laying there in his bed, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

‘Victor’ said Renard. “Where have you been?” Victor looked at the clock; it was half past nine. He was almost three hours late. He just ignored the question. ‘So what should I do?’

“Get started with the salmon” said Renard. ‘You know what to do.’

He took the salmon and started to cut it in slices. It was strange how he felt. With every slice he’d cut, it was like a piece of his life was removed. He told himself that he was just over-reacting, but still the cloud of depression that lingered over him didn’t seem to disappear. The day continued quickly then he had imagined and before he knew, it was the last round of the day. He never dreamt this but he was actually enjoying himself. He looked at all the happy faces enjoying their meals and then he thought to himself, “Poor people, they have no idea that this is going to be the last meal of their life”.

He just smiled, pulled out the empty cyanide bottle from his pocket and threw it in the bin.

Victor’ said Renard as he walked in. “You have done good son, I am proud of you, let’s have a drink.” He poured two glasses of champagne.

“Father” called Victor with a cold face. ‘Thank you and I am sorry’. He drew his Glock 22 and shot his father. As he walked towards the door, he looked back one last time. It was silent. The entire restaurant seemed empty only that it wasn’t. Everybody was just dead. He flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and walked into the darkness.


Photo courtesy of Michelle Weber.

Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words


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