Write On Edge: BLT Challenge

400-word limit gifted by Red Writing Hood inspired a break from my recent characters. Sure, I could accept the challenge to invent an early 14th century BLT for my crusader. I even started writing the scene when an entirely different image popped into my mind. Here's the prompt:


Plump tomatoes, salty bacon, crisp lettuce, soft bread, this week we want you to be inspired by the BLT. Write a piece of either fiction or creative non-fiction based on this photo.

 I asked myself a question. What happens if the photo is misleading?


I offer the following in response: BLT Revisited

The sun slowly burned through the foggy barrier revealing tractor rigs and sign posts like a magician with a wand. Penny sat with her twin at a distressed booth in Spooners, their traditional stop off the interstate, bemoaning the miles left to go on their trek home from Northeastern University.  Ancient décor scared away those that the locale hadn’t, but the food was cheap and nobody cared they wore pajamas.

“Five letters: glacial inlet?” Amber asked, tapping her pen against her folded magazine.

“Fjord,” Penny replied without hesitation as she investigated the pieces of her BLT. The menu photo was overly optimistic, she thought. “This doesn’t taste right.”

“It never does,” she quipped, last jot complete. “Six letters: Rock Star and City in MO.”

A server slopped refills in their coffee cups in passing, splashing some in his lackadaisical manner. Penny hailed him back, “I’m sorry, can we get some extra napkins?”

He disappeared with a grunt. Amber muttered, “Thanks for nothin’.”

“Be nice, Ams, it’s not like this diner is the Ritz.” The bacon was undercooked, the lettuce tired, and the tomato flat. Penny reached for the salt-shaker. “Joplin,” she answered finally. “Why do tomatoes taste like candles?”

“Bee ni-ice,” she mimicked, rolling her eyes. “Apples an’ tomatoes are waxed to keep them shiny in supermarkets.” With a disapproving scowl, she warned, “Salt isn’t good for you.”

Napkins were tossed onto the table without a clear point of origin. “Yes, well neither is bacon or mayonnaise for that reason.” After mopping the table, Penny smashed her sandwich back together. She took a timid bite to taste, and dissatisfied, dismantled it again.

“Plant lice?” Amber asked, spiriting the salt-shaker away.

She made a face in response. “They’re not good for you either,” she stated, fetching the pepper.

“No, Penns, a five-letter word for plant lice.”

“Aphid.” She finished her dousing of pepper.

Amber sneezed violently. “Geez! How much pepper dijya put on that slop?”

She forced another disappointed swallow, “Not enough. You should’ve let me keep the salt.”

“Look, you gonna finish that sometime today? Fog’s lifted an’ I wanna get home before midnight.”

“Are you going to finish your crossword?” she mocked, plating the partially-consumed sandwich. She fished a Jackson from her wallet and pinned it to the table with the pepper-shaker. Lukewarm coffee downed, they abandoned the broken BLT to its fate and happily made for the exit.