Salad Fingers Novels & Stories

Why did he lie to her? “Yes, thank you.” A chilled plate of salad was placed before her, along with a chilled fork. To a blind person, salad was akin to placing a chocolate cake before a child. It was not a food that could be eaten with any sort of dignity. More times than not, she ended up with a leaf or two on her lap. Using her fork and knife, she explored the greens and their accompaniments. As expected, there were whole grape tomatoes, thick slices of cucumber, and an assortment of greens and croutons. This would be tricky for sure.

“Something that is not battered and deep fat fried. A fresh garden salad with spinach and arugula and butter lettuce, bursting with crunchy vegetables.” “You had a salad yesterday.” “I had chopped iceberg lettuce with a few carrot shavings and one cherry tomato—that is not a salad. And since when is a cup of fruit cocktail topped with sliced bananas considered a side of fruit?” “Since always. I can pull over and you can forage for fresh crunchy greens in the ditch if you like.” “Oh shut up. Now who’s being mean?” He sighed. “Look, it sucks that it annoys you, but do you want to know why I need sunflower seeds when I’m on the road?”

There was no plate, it was just the bread with cheese, lettuce, and a slice of tomato. She removed the gloves on her fingers and wiggled them a bit to bring back the feeling. She clenched them so much that they were cramping and sore. After the mini-finger exercise, she picked up the bread and turned herself slightly so she could pull down the scarf on her face. She eagerly munched down on the sandwich until it was all gone. That would be enough to keep her up until she gets somewhere.

He grinned, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. “It’s called ‘Story Fingers.’ You take turns telling a story, but here’s the catch—you can only speak one sentence at a time, and you have to include a finger count with each sentence. For example, I start with ‘One fox ran across the river,’ and then you continue with two of something happening, and so on. It gets tricky, and hilarious, especially after a few rounds.” Jaiyana laughed, already intrigued. “Sounds… complicated. But fun. Okay, I’m in.”

Each one embedded precisely into the frequency slot the lily-of-the-valley had reserved for it. She reached out and brushed her fingertip against the web of his hand. There was no callus there. The only callus on his hands was between his right index and middle fingers—worn by years of keystrokes. Its position was exactly symmetrical to the old chilblain scar on her sword-hand.

But it doesn't look like any salad that I've had before. “It's your regular salad but it has been tossed in truffle oil and it has fried salmon bits inside. I thought we could start with something light.” He explains to me. “Well it looks good.” I tell him and then I pick up my fork so I can have a taste and the moment it hits my taste buds I let out a moan and he laughs but I also don't miss the heat in his eyes. “Oh my goddess, that's amazing, no way that's just salad.” I tell him.

Quietly, I followed. I was surprised when she stopped at the salad bar and picked up Ladies finger. Ladies finger? That was rare. Not many kids liked that. “Is that for you?” I asked, curious. I grabbed some too, since it’s one of my favorites. “Yes! It’s my favorite. I love eating ladies’ fingers,” she said with cheerful conviction. “Oh, same here. I love it too,” I answered, smiling back. “Cheers!” I teased, raising the Ladies finger.

I used my fork to skim through the salad. "It's good just take a bite." Alexander said as he reached over and poured some blue creamy sauce over the salad. Some of the small white balls in it blossomed when the blue sause touched them. Definitely not something I've seen before. "Okay." I whispered. I wouldn't be rude and if it was nasty I would charm my disgust away.

I wanted to spoil my mates. I had meatballs in one slow cooker, funeral potatoes in another, deviled eggs in the fridge, and everything ready for the “taco” salad that was made with corn chips and ranch dressing and resembled nothing like a taco salad. I was working on the candy bar salad when my mates walked in, their smiles absent.

Nothing better than a soggy, wet salad, right? The part of interest to Tony was when Dillon walked over to a small fridge by his salad station and grabbed a large wooden bowl full of large bright purple flowers with white edges. They were rather unique in shape. Almost like trumpets. He set them down while he got out a stack of small salad plates and set out six of them. On each plate, he used his gloved hands to add well-mixed handfuls of salad gently to each plate. Then he topped each with paper thin slices of red cabbage('Radicchio, stupid!' Dillon would say), some pan fried bacon bits, and one of the purple and white trumpet flowers.