Bread is Life (flash horror fiction — queer lives saved by sentient matzah)
Our ancestors are with us. They are on our side, and they will provide what we need.
Valerie heard pounding on the door, but she had dough to knead. It had to rise. This bread would save them all.
“Truth,” she said as the dough soaked up her words. “Life.”
Her wife pushed the sofa in front of the door. “I need your help,” she yelled.
Valerie focused on the dough, turning it into loaves.
“Life, life, life….”
One law after another had been passed. First they threatened their son who was sent home with his head shorn. Then they threatened their daughter. They took away her skirt. She cried when they made her wear pants, and people wouldn’t call her by her name.
“That name is dead,” she screamed.
“You’ll be dead if you don’t use your real name,” yelled the police officer who had shown up at their door. Valerie couldn’t remember pushing him out of their house, but she remembered pulling out the tub of flour. She remembered the promise of her ancestors and a golem who would protect them all. She remembered sending out the alert and sharing a recipe that had been buried so deep that she couldn’t remember it until she needed it.
“Rise,” she whispered to the dough. She watched it expand and writhe. She backed away from the counter. Police burst through the door.
Valerie stepped aside. The bread had not fully risen. Her wife grabbed their children and ran to the basement. Valerie had to stand her ground. The bread wasn’t ready, but she had to be.
“Life, life, life…” she repeated over and over.
The police officer was a foot away from her when his feet stopped moving forward, when white specks appeared in his blue eyes. The dough continued to grow. The officer’s feet disappeared first, and the officer swung his baton until his arm could move no more. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. The dough had wrapped around his throat and was squeezing. The baton dropped to the kitchen floor with a clatter.
It was the bread of life, the bread of affliction, and it was answering their cries for help. It would help them and many other families who followed the recipe that she had sent out to everyone who had asked. Valerie told them all to make bread and let it soak up their words.
“Life, life, life…”
Note from the author: I know the title is a bit silly, but this is my first attempt at writing horror fiction. I loved it. I’ve been writing romantic comedy because that was what I kneaded (See what I did there?), but maybe our times call for some horror. I know some of us are living in horrible circumstances. In any case, I know our ancestors are with us. They are on our side, and they will provide what we need.
