The Dissolution

So, I’ve decided to take up Teresa’s Daily Writing Prompt: Culinary Mystery.

You can check out the prompt here: Here’s the definition of this particular prompt:

Your challenge today, should you accept it, is to explore the darker side of humanity. Write your take on the mystery subgenre of Culinary Mystery and see where it leads…or whatever/wherever the prompt takes you. There are no word limits or requirements of any kind. Just see where the picture or genre takes you and have fun.

Culinary Mystery: A subgenre in which a professional chef is involved, usually as the protagonist. Murder and/or other elements of crime are often combined with food and recipes. Common settings or themes include bakery/dessert, barbeque, chef, coffee/tea, cooking class, farm/orchard, cheese, chocolate, food clubs/critics, organic food, pizza, restaurants, and wine/vineyards.

So, this may not be exactly like the prompt, but it’s a prompt. It’s meant to inspire you and it doesn’t say that you have to follow the definition of Culinary Mystery exactly, does it? Anyway, enjoy!

William hummed random tunes as he stirred the soup, raising the spoon to his lips as he tasted it. Hmm. Very nice, if I do say so myself. He then looked around to make sure that no-one was watching. Everyone bustled about, shouting at each other, as they struggled to keep up with the ever-increasing number of customers that day.


He reached into one of the many pockets on his apron and pulled out a bottle of Thallium. The time it took to kill of course depended on the amount and circumstances, etc., but with the amount he had in this bottle, it should kill that customer in a maximum of six days.

More than enough time to prevent what will happen in the future from happening.

He quickly slipped it into the soup, putting the bottle back into his apron pocket and stirred the Thallium in, making sure that it melted into the other food.

“Thyler order! I need the Thyler order!” someone shouted.

“On it, sir!” he shouted back, picking up the pot and pouring it into a waiting bowl. “Here you are, sir!” he called back, handing the bowl to the stressed out waiter. The waiter briskly nodded and turned to head out the door.

“Hold it!” a voice boomed.

Everyone froze.

William swallowed tightly. Not her. He turned around and sure enough – it was her.

His daughter that wouldn’t be born for another ten years.

She pointed a gun straight at his head, other people with guns behind her. “You, sir,” and she spat the word out, “are under arrest.”


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