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  • Writer's pictureJabe Stafford

One Page Worlds - Certified Master Taster Zombie

A whole world on a single page!

The short story morsels of One Page Worlds are flash fiction adventures of all flavors. Every Wednesday will feature a complete story in one page, or the first page of what could be a novel or novelette.

Sharing the fun and geekery is the best part of writing! Please tweet or comment with your guesses on what genre, character, and job is central to each tale. Enjoy touring new universes each week with One Page Worlds!

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“I am the only zombie with an agent, Ches,” Price rasped the day I served him dinner. “Longest lived. Least rotted. Certified Master Taster.”

Bloody goodness, I hadn’t stammered that much since first year of culinary school. I told him, “A man of your achievements deserves the best of the rare. I’ve perfected it after eight attempts. I found aeb samong moo to be exotic and er, felt it would speak to your roots. Soul food.”

Price sneered at the dish in my spasming hand, his too-white teeth gleaming. “Is Ches Chatham’s vlog special supposed to be all insults and low blows?”

Atop the plate I placed in front of him were crisp, blackened banana leaves wrapped around curry paste, shallots, garlic, lime leaves, dry chilies. . .and grilled brains. The camera crews breathed through masks for fear of either catching the zombie virus or the possibility of enjoying the scent of brains, regardless of how professionally I’d grilled it. We’d crammed fifteen people into the upstairs loft at Palate’s End, my cheeky it’ll-never-be-famous-but-now-it-is shock factor restaurant. Most patrons reserved tables, ordered a curiosity or a foreign dish, and vowed to return and try more.

My unending menu of lost and absurd recipes hooked the wealthy and supernatural adventure-seekers of London.

Skindred Price’s eyes sought the most lethal place to bite me. I sprang back among the film crew before he got the chance. Resigned, he focused on the dish.

All the zombie’s touchy inclinations disappeared the moment fork met lips.

He let the first bite remain on his tongue, expression melting into a grin so genuine I thought he might shamble off and praise my brains to his fellows. “Good call, Ches. Rich, spicy and smooth. How many did you have to taste-test before calling me up?”

I chose not to make the joke on everyone’s mind and said without stammering, “Eight.”

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