On Breaking Fasts

101 words beginning, middle, end

“Can I have brown sugar?” I asked. She was never home for breakfast. I would have hated her for it, but I disliked her other half still more.
            My spoon swirled. I inhaled, but drew up short.

            “Please. Can’t you make something else?”
            I wasn’t a chronic complainer.

            She was unamused.

            “No. Stop. Give it. It’s perfectly edible.”

            My lips wouldn’t close around another bite. Oats and gravy swam between my teeth. I couldn’t replace my tastebuds, but I would have.

            Her smug cheekbones stopped smiling at me.

            “I must have. I must have… I think the containers look really similar.”