Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

A Day Without Consciences

As a man of leisure, I am fairly able to do as I wish every day. Now if I were allowed to dream of a day without consciences that truly would be a perfect day. Before you think that I have thoughts of some dastardly act let me say that my guilt free fantasies lately have been running along the ideas of food. I have been on a diet for nine months now and don't get me wrong the rewards have been great but the deprivation has even started to affect my sleep. I no longer have dreams long of legged blondes or throwing the winning touchdown, not even winning the big state lottery. No, my fantasies tend to be along the lines of Ice Cream Mountains and Chocolate Fudge Rivers.

My perfect guilt-free day would start with sleeping in, no exercise for me today. After a beautiful morning of reading the paper with a cup of coffee with real cream and yes, real sugar I'd head to the waffle house for breakfast. What, oh not the regular, I don't want egg whites and unbuttered toast today. Let me see, oh yeah, I want waffles with lots of butter and maybe extra maple syrup. I want fried eggs to go with that and bacon; make that two orders of bacon. After breakfast, I will need a nap so I think I'll go to the park, where I run every day and lay down under a big oak tree. I find it strange that today the sun feels good on my face, washing it in warmth instead of baking it as usual, as I run around this park.

I feel quite rested after my nap and maybe a treat would go good. I drive my car two blocks, as I wouldn't want to walk that far to the Thirty-One Flavors Ice Cream Shoppe. I can't decide on which flavor to choose so what the heck I order thirty of them, I just don't like Banana-Walnut. I sit on their patio consuming my trough of sinful delights and watch the common folk go by with their worries of calories consumed against calories burned. Alas, there is no way I can finish my ice cream so I leave it for the neighboring cats who have suddenly taken an interest in me. Now I have to hurry home and try to decide what I'm having for dinner tonight.

The pressure is bearing down on me, what will I eat tonight, a night of guilt free anything I want gourmand delight. I find I'm choking, I can't decide, from Thai with its curries, coconut sauces, to a roast lamb with mint jelly and a baked potato drown in butter, and sour cream there is just too many choices. I realize I have only one option; I hop a plane and fly to Las Vegas. Once there I jump into a cab and yell "Take me to the buffet." At the International Buffet, I don't have to make choices; I can eat something from every country and go back for more as many times, as I desire.

Still this was just a fantasy day for there are no days without consciences. Those days led to my diet in the first place. Days of moderation are what I need now, not mindless binging but thoughtful consumption, but oh yes I can dream, can't I.

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