A Friend for Dinner by Prospero Pulma Jr.

A Friend for Dinner

By Prospero E. Pulma Jr.


Bits of flesh stained the squirrel’s new sabertooth-like teeth and thick drool ran from the corners of her mouth. Oblivious of the mess, she attacked her plate again for another chunk of the pink meat, swallowing it with little chewing. Her eyes furtively watched the other four who were sharing the feast with her.

The tiny green one beside her had the smallest share, owing to his size, but she had no doubt that his appetite was as insatiable as his greed.

Armed with pincers that had become sharp as knives, the red-skinned diner easily tore through his first serving and was going through his second. Although his lust for food and wealth was comparable to his tiny tablemate’s, he was still the bigger monster due to his size.

The fourth diner had multiple limbs, using one pair to dump food into his gaping maw and another to prepare it. Unlike the squirrel who watched everyone with suspicion, he was eyeing his bawling, yellow-colored tablemate with growing vexation. The tentacled one took another bite and spat it out a second later.

“Spongebob! Your tears have ruined my food.” He freed his tentacles to simultaneously slap and shake Spongebob like a rag doll. “Quit crying!”

“Friends don’t betray friends, Squidward,” Spongebob replied. Pink flesh dotted his newly grown canine teeth like the squirrel.

“Bah! Don’t be a hypocrite!” Squidward dumped his tear-soaked food on Spongebob’s plate and sawed off a slab of the pink meat with his serrated tentacles.

“This is your fault, Sandy! You and your experiments”

“Spongebob, I only wanted to discover why mammals turn cannibals. I never knew that it was a virus. Do you think I wanted to look like a sabertooth or eat meat?”

“Lad,” the diner with the sharp pincers finally spoke, “in this world, some feed on others to live.” He winked at Spongebob and resumed eating.

“Mr. Krabs, you don’t understand. He was my friend.”

“Not anymore.” It was a great feat for Plankton to speak over Spongebob’s keening. “Remember the hunt?”

The hunt. Spongebob could never forget the hunt. Patrick banging on his door one morning, frantically fleeing from Sandy, who first developed craving for flesh of the pure-brained, and the others who were similarly infected.

Spongebob was inside his pineapple house, shaking in hunger for meat of the uninfected. Then he smelled Patrick’s brain, fresh and immune from the virus that ravaged the thinking brains. He opened the door, not caring to conceal his new oversized canine teeth. The starfish ran inside and never saw his friend swing the club at him.

Sandy dropped her plate, which she licked clean, on the table and stared blankly before lighting up. “Patricus cannibalinses. That’s it! That should the name of the virus. Patricus cannibalinses.”

“My boy, you’re good in frying patties, but with starfish meat you were simply amazing!” Mr. Krabs finished off his second serving and reached for his third, the last on table. Everyone saw the empty food tray. Their stomach, dictated by the virus, still growled. The meat of the uninfected would not suffice.