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Picture prompt: Eat your oats, honey

“Yes,” he replied, and sat down, fork in hand.

She watched him as he mixed up the contents of the bowl, reducing the gold of the honey and raisins and the ruby-red of the strawberries into brown-white goo. As his fork paused to pick a bite and lift it to his mouth, Ira saw the goo rising by itself, like an exploding mudslide, splattering his face, blinding him.

“Come back early today, honey,” she dropped a kiss on her husband’s head as he struggled through his breakfast. “I have a feeling things will work tonight.”