In the house there were cabinets full of boxes of raisins and crackers, cantaloupe and salmon fillets, bacon over a working stove.
All my favorite brands of cereal and a toaster for the plentiful bounty of bagels, marmalade and peanut butter painting designs on the wall
There was as well a freezer section with desserts and the unsweetened ice tea that had been my favorite back in the days of crackers and carelessness.
And a note, naming me welcome to all till I’m stuffed and happy, but they forgot to leave a key, or not,
I could be in hell.
“So far,” Colonel Johns said looking over the remaining rations, “it’s not lookin’ great.”
We were desperately starving, and there were six of us. “We’ve got one apple, and that’s it.”
Chaplain Holmes’ eyes flicked from the apple to group captain Mandrake and then to the gunners Thompson and Dunbar, all of them craving to the point of breaking.
It was only Jimmy, the homeless orphan-turned mess hall boy, who knew what to do. He lunged at the apple, grabbed it and flung it over the side of the raft into the ocean.
We all starved, but none were murdered.