ShapeShifter Fiction: Hot Dogs by Susan Helene Gottfried
If you've never met my fictional band, ShapeShifter, now's the time! They feature in my four book-length releases, and will again star in April's upcoming King Trevor.
“I... can’t.”
Mitchell Voss put his hand on his stomach and tried not to turn green. Sure, he’d agreed to do this, but no one had mentioned this little twist to the day’s events. No one had probably even thought it was possible.
“What’s the problem?” Daniel gave him one of those worried looks that the drummer usually saved for real crises. Athough this could become a crisis: they’d been invited here to judge the food, after all. Not being able to eat was definitely flirting with creating a crisis.
“It’s a hot dog,” Mitchell said, leaning toward Daniel and trying to speak out of the corner of his mouth. One of the other judges passed by, pressing against his arm. The contact made his stomach lurch again.
“So?” Daniel looked over Mitchell’s shoulder, gave a fake smile to someone who was probably all excited to be so near ShapeShifter.
“I eat that, it’ll come right back up,” Mitchell said. His stomach lurched once more and he put a hand to his mouth. Thankfully, the only thing he had to contend with was a burp.
“How do you know?”
Mitchell fidgeted, willing his stomach to calm. These memories weren’t helping it any. “Remember when we got stranded that one time in Wyoming?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Daniel scuffed at the ground with his toe and looked up quickly when he got bumped by some passerby. “Yeah, I do. But... that was years ago now, man.”
“I know,” Mitchell sighed. He nodded at the head of the festival, who was giving him a worried look. He figured his face was some odd shade of green, so he faked a smile at her. “Doesn’t matter. Every single fucking hot dog that goes down comes right back up. Doesn’t matter how deep I bury it under chili or cheese or slaw or anything. Doesn’t matter if it doesn’t even taste like a dog, or if I even know it’s there.”
Daniel was silent a minute, thinking. “What’s better than one member of ShapeShifter?”
“Two,” Mitchell answered with a smile. “But have a bucket ready, anyway.”
Daniel stuck one foot under the table, hooked his foot around a bucket, and dragged it closer. “Done. Where’s the food?”
“Chili,” Mitchell said. “It’s a chili fest.”
“Then what’s with the hot dogs?”
Mitchell stared at the dog, sitting in its bun, all alone on a white paper plate. It looked like something that deserved to be immortalized as pop art – and hung on someone else’s wall. “Damned if I know.”
Susan Helene Gottfried, or Susan at West of Mars, can be found at her online home, West of Mars
