Onion Tears

He was a boy, she was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious?

Wait - what? This is the 21st century? To be extra-clear, then; they were dating.

Anyway - gosh, you’ve really messed up my flow. I should just get to the story.

Rebecca was in the kitchen of her modern inner-city apartment. One of the nice ones, with a whole bedroom! She was one of those fabled ‘successful’ millennials - by which, of course, I mean she had a job which paid enough for rent and food! She was preparing a lasagne when her boyfriend, Hipster Ben, entered the kitchen. Hipster’s birth name was actually Frank Bennington, but he thought it didn’t sound modern enough, so he had it legally changed - you know how it is. Hipster Ben worked as a barista in an up-and-coming coffee shop, which served your coffee to you by physically handing you four coffee beans and an entire cow (or an almond, for the dairy-averse) to milk by hand.

When he saw the ingredients on the counter, Hipster Ben’s eyes lit up. “Babe! Are you finally making that deconstructed lasagne recipe I gave you?”

Rebecca grimaced. “No, sorry Hipster Ben, it’s just regular lasagne. It would take far too long to plate a deconstructed lasagne, what with all the test tubes full of cheese and sauce and meat. Plus, our lasagne sheets are too large to use for the edible deck of cards portion.”

Hipster Ben raised an artistically bushy eyebrow in thought. “We could skip the test tubes, then, and then dinner’s almost done!” He grinned as though he’d said anything of worth, although he had changed less than nothing about Rebecca’s plan.

“And then…” he curled his arms around Rebecca’s waist slyly, tracing her underbreast tattoo with his fingertips.

It’s probably important to mention, Rebecca was cooking dinner naked.

She laughed coyly. “Babe, you’re talking nonsense. Besides - I haven’t even cut the onions yet.” She took a knife in hand, and reached for an onion.

Hipster gently spun her so she was facing him. She cocked an eyebrow, pursing her lips. Reaching up, she traced his jawline. It was hard, with a beard in the way, but she managed it. Then she traced his pecs.

Hipster Ben was also naked.

I’ll spare you the gory details - this isn’t a lewd story, after all, but - I’m sorry, this is hard to say… they… they kissed.

I’m sorry, I know I said this book wasn’t lewd and I apologise if you feel betrayed now, but you needed to know. It’s best if we move on now.

“Oh my god Hipster,” Rebecca breathed, “you’re so valid!”

“Oh my god I’m valid,” tears filled his eyes as he smiled with glaringly white teeth. “Also can you please put the knife down. It’s not that I don’t trust you but you did almost stab me with it when we got handsy just now.” He’d just received a very close shave with it, in fact, he’d felt it slice some of his back hair. He’d have to get Tanya to give him a extra-strong waxing next time - shaving makes the hair grow back thicker, he thought, and he simply couldn’t have thick back hair.

Rebecca looked down at the knife in her hand, as though she’d forgotten about it. This is understandable of course - I, too, tend to forget when I’m holding sharp weapons. That’s why so many people unexpectedly collapse when I’m near. People are easily startled by sudden knives, especially when those sudden knives are suddenly embedded in their sudden torsos.

She put the knife back on the countertop. “I do still need to cut onions.”

What happened next is difficult to describe, and even more difficult to believe, but I assure you it’s just as true as the rest of this story!

So, y’know. Make your own judgment call on that.

Rebecca reached for an onion. It was one of those purple ones that people sometimes buy to look more fancy, even if they have no real idea what the difference is between it and a normal brown onion.

The onion rolled out of her reach. Hipster Ben didn’t see - he was too busy thinking about how many reactions a picture of a vintage lasagne would get, and weighing up if it wasn’t worth the trouble of going down to the store to buy some miniature lasagne sheets after all. Rebecca frowned.

“Did you see what that onion just did?”

“Unless it chopped itself and laid out on a plate with a bunch of other lasagne ingredients, I don’t really care, babe.”

The onion screamed, and boy did Hipster feel stupid after that.

“I’m sorry?” Rebecca asked. Hipster was already crying.

“ONIONS! DO NOT! GO IN LASAGNE!” The onion screamed.

Rebecca frowned again. “Yes you do. With the meat layer.”

“I’M A VEGAAAAAN!” the onion replied. It had a voice you wouldn’t expect from an onion - guttural and deep, with the hint of a Brooklyn accent.

Rebecca tilted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. “Huh. I didn’t know onions could be vegan.” Her brow creased a third time, as her gaze was pulled to Hipster, who was screaming on the floor.

“SALAD ONIONS CAN BE,” the onion shouted pleasantly, seemingly relieved to be heard for once, “RED ONIONS ARE FOR SALAAAAD!”

“Oh, I thought they were just fancy onions.”

“EVERYBODY THINKS THAT BUT IT ISN’T TRUE!”

“Good to know!” Rebecca looked away from Hipster, who had stopped screaming and was now just silently staring at the onion, growing horror on his face. “Hey onion, I’m really very sorry about this, but we may have to, uh, cut this short.”

“What,”

“Yeah I think you broke my boyfriend, plus I am super hungry right now. It’s nothing personal!”

Do you remember the little conversation we had about sudden knives earlier? Yeah, this onion wasn’t expecting one either.

Thankyou for reading this lighthearted piece of absurdity! Consider checking out one of my more serious stories, Petrichor, here: https://shopping-feedback.today/psyche/petrichor-iravbw0jcj%3C/em%3E%3C/a%3E%3Cem class="css-ak7tmt-Italic">

Or view all of my Vocal pieces here: https://shopping-feedback.today/authors/will-savage%3C/em%3E%3C/a%3E%3Cem class="css-ak7tmt-Italic">

Please consider hearting this piece if you liked it, and subscribe if you'd like to see my future work!