Spine Crackers Novels & Stories

"Glad to hear. I'll be there soon." I glanced at the assortment of snacks I'd picked up earlier: Lay's Poppables Sweet Potato Sea Salt chips, a new release that had caught my eye , and a selection of Utz pretzels, their familiar packaging evoking memories of countless road trips . Mia had a penchant for these, and I hoped they'd bring her some comfort after her long day.

I walked it like I’ve walked a thousand emergency supply runs for pack flu, injuries, births—different needs, same impulse: build a nest and feed the body back to itself. Crackers. Three kinds because we hedge bets when bellies are in revolt: saltines, butter rounds, rice crackers. Soup: chicken noodle, broth, the kind with actual carrots and not just promises. Ginger ale—the good stuff with actual ginger—and lemon-lime because some people swear by the pale yellow soda that tastes like medical permission. Peppermint tea, ginger tea, honey. Applesauce cups and those little gelatin cups you pretend are for children. A small bouquet of bananas that wouldn’t help today but would make tomorrow ki

Instead, she sought additional professional guidance from Hanley. Feeling apologetic, Candice remarked, "You're already busy with work, and now, I'm burdening you with additional lessons." Hanley glanced at her and produced a box of salty crackers from somewhere. He extended it to Candice. He cast her a gentle gaze and spoke in a deep, soothing tone, "A client sent these. His wife made them herself without any harmful additives. They should help alleviate your discomfort." Candice felt a surge of emotion in her heart as she gazed at the package of salty crackers.

Boxes of macaroni, cans of sardines, mustard—the longer she looked, the less any of it appealed to her. She eventually settled on a box of soda crackers. She needed something she could stomach. She took the box to the front and tossed it onto the counter along with a few more wadded dollars. Going back to her motel room, she tried to eat some of the crackers. They were too dry, and she couldn’t easily choke them down. She spat them into the small metal trash can in the corner of the room and sat on the edge of the bed until the sickness spiraled in her stomach again.

Priya looked at my face and said, simply, go, in the tone of someone who had already figured out the situation and didn't need it explained. I stopped at the vending machine in the east corridor on the way out. Crackers, two kinds. A granola bar. A bag of those small pretzels that tasted like nothing in particular but had the important quality of being edible under stress. I added a chocolate bar at the last second because some situations required chocolate whether or not anyone admitted it.

“Using a metal spoon will sour your batch. Use the white thing on your tray. It’s called mother of pearl.” He saw it and picked it up. “Thanks.” “Do you want me to give you pointers on how to eat it?” she asked sweetly. He grinned. “Sure.” Margo showed him how to place the crème frachie, caviar, and onion on the cracker. “Eat the whole cracker at once. If you don’t, there’s a chance of you wasting some caviar, and you don’t want that.” “Absolutely not,” Alec agreed with a smirk.

One pack comes with two crackers. I get a cup of tea and sit on the couch and eat my deliciousness of crackers. I hear my uncle come down the stairs and hear him fall. I can't have a moment of peace? I get up off the couch and turn towards the stairs. He was thankfully already on the last step when he fell, and he's drunk again. I can already smell the alcohol.1

“Crackers, Damian. I need crackers, please. My baby loves crackers early in the morning. Do you have any?” “Lo Siento, Senora. But we don’t have crackers here.” “What?” I scowled. “Tell me if you have any, even a small portion that has a cracker in it. I badly need savoury and crunchy biscuits that are made by layering sheets of dough and baked until the texture is crunchy… and crackers that have a low sugar content, Damian.” Or I will be grumpy like an older woman in her menopausal state. So an annoying voice inside my head said.

The email read; “Dear student, Evans Hart, due to your excellence in your studies, we the school council wouldn’t want your talent to go to waste because of your personal life, so we have decided to give you a rare opportunity to get your certificate. The opportunity will have you leave the country and go to Canada to intern under a doctor in a famous hospital. There, you’ll gain experience and also the opportunity to get your degree. Please, inform us if you’re interested so we can discuss and also arrange things with immediate effect. Sent by Professor Charles."

"Just do this for me, okay? You two should meet one last time! All these old memories are hitting me out of nowhere!" "Are you insane? After that messy cheating scandal, why should Jean have to deal with him again?" "Exactly! Jean deserves way better than a trash like Conrad!" "Hey, stop spreading lies! Jenny's texts to Jean never actually proved anything physical happened between her and Conrad, okay?" "Even if he didn't sleep around, he's still trash. Cheaters don't change. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Jean needs to move on and find someone better. We're queens. We play men, not the other way around!"