This was created for the 200th week of Thunderdome; and it is a return to the original prompt that launched it all. A Man Agonizes over his Potatoes.
Locked pantries came back in style. Fridges had thumbprint scanners. Headlines about “Them” had people bending their window-blinds at all hours. Police enlisted dogcatchers and parking enforcement officers to help deal with the “monsters”. Monsters had come up from the ground, or landed in a meteor, or washed up from the ocean or sewers or garbage dumps or something. They ate fat, but vinegar was like candy to them. Acetone was like caffeine.
“That’s how fires get started.” I thought out loud. No one responded.
The doorbell rang. It was the devil. They’d be wearing the clothes and body of the delivery guy, holding the pizza Gil had ordered twenty nine minutes ago. He came down the stairs in no particular hurry. This leg of the negotiation process was merely a formality, and the devil’s appearances had become commonplace. In the form of postal workers hand delivering bills, sickly birds on the windowsill in the process of leaving a mess, or pornographic performers suddenly addressing Gil by name during lonely midnight viewings, he and the devil had slowly circled an agreement.