Spooky salmon

If they would appreciate it, he wasn’t sure. Maniacal hoped that the maple he took from the cemetery down the street and filled the improvised, oil can smoker he hoped wouldn’t kill him, would imbue the salmon with the distinctive, crisp notes of blasphemy. Otherwise, it really did seem to bring out something in this particular batch. It could have been potentially that this was just really good fish he had gotten at the farmer’s market. It was so fresh it was barely dead the fishmonger had assured him. It was also some of the most expensive salmon he had ever bought.

Maniacal looked at the sandwiches, placed them, cut in triangles, into what he hoped looked like the runic sign for the god Ingwaz. Ingwaz, regrettably brought peace, unity and harmony to the united peoples of Jutland in ancient times, but it was also the only rune he could remember from the book he got out last year and the only one he could make with triangular shaped salmon sandwiches.

Doom was blunt. He hadn't had any coffee yet and, unfortunately for Maniacal, was not in the mood for this at all.

"How exactly do you propose we eat this?" Doom said, finishing the little morsel of gourmet, craft, heresy like a child forced to eat broccoli.

"What do you mean?"

Silence. Doom looked sideways at the wall, regretting being that direct already. The air thickened.

"Well?"

He looked at the ground and scuffed it a bit with a fanciful little kick and twisted an imaginary cigarette into the ground.

"You don't like it? What is it? I got the best salmon I could find!" implored Maniacal, eyes bulging and verging on tears of rage and regret.

"Its not that, I mean, everyone appreciates the effort man. I mean, this is some of the most original blasphemy anyone could come up with. Who would have ever guessed you could make black metal snacks.”

"And?"

"And, well, its just, maybe I’m just not that into salmon.”

"Oh so now you're a gourmet are you? Mr. McDonalds?" Maniacal sneered, "Fuck you. This is damn good. If you're not going to have it, that means more for the rest of us."

"You mean more for you. Look, no one else likes it either." Dethcrusher was barely there as always, silent and plodding through sitting with the rest of his band like a tired ghost. He took another bite slowly. Maniacal scrutinised every chew.

"Oh fuck you."

"Hey, hey, hey, listen, maybe it was the smoker. It was your grandma's right? Maybe its the old kind or something.”

"I made it asshole, so there, you got me on something else I can’t do right. But it’s a smoker, there has not been any improvement in technology in it since the ice age."

“You’re just pissed off because we have to practice and you think he’s going to come back,” said Doom under his breath.

“I think he will,” Dethcrusher mumbled with a full mouth.