Dinner (Microfiction)

Mama’s been making you your favorite fried rice every day since you left. There's always a bowl of it at dinner, sitting before your empty seat.

We used to finish it for you. Didn’t want to waste the food, you know? It was always too salty. We all pretended it was the soy sauce.

Now, someone just throws out the rice when we’re done. Nobody tells Mama to stop.

Today we had takeout. Mama made you fried rice anyway. It sits there, waiting.

We are all waiting.

When are you coming home? The food's starting to get cold.