Banquet Starfish

Banquet

In a slow five-point cartwheel, through the heat-haze, it came as I lay on the wood-floored portico of the Thai Approbation Office. Soft suction pads settled on me. A cool blanket. I smiled. Its stomach crawled out, scored my flesh, siphoned my juices, sucked my bones, digested my body, leaving only my head behind. Dripping blood? No. Sweat. I had dozed off. I awoke to heckling that drowned the sound of salty sea waves. Icy juice vendors and paper boys hawked nearby. Ropes of silent ants had crawled into my basket of deep-fried starfish. A customer, thrusting money, demanded two.

Three words had to be incorporated in this 100 word flash fiction. Starfish was fine but other two weird: “approbation and portico”.