Flash Fiction by Lefki Karantoni

“You have got to be joking!” Steve said, blinking repeatedly.

Matt kept feeding coins into the vending machine. With each quid, another packet of crisps dropped. Another. He’d already got seven.

“It’s not broken,” Matt said, ripping open the eighth. “It’s possessed. Salt and vinegar every single time. I’ve tried every button.”

Steve stared at the growing pile on the break-room table. “We’ve been on nights for three hours and you’ve spent ten quid already on the same crisps. The machine’s not possessed, you’re just thick.”

Matt shrugged, pressed the button again. “Told you. Infinite salt and vinegar. It’s a sign of the times.”

A sign of what, Steve didn’t ask. He just watched Matt methodically open packet after packet, eating one crisp at a time like he was performing a ritual. The pile of empty wrappers grew. The machine hummed contentedly.

“Mate,” Steve tried again, “the canteen’s literally upstairs. They do toasties.”

“Toasties don’t feel like destiny.”

By the twelfth packet Matt finally paused, looked at the mountain of crisps, and sighed. “Right. That’s the lot. Machine’s empty now.”

Steve blinked. “You’ve just eaten the entire stock of salt and vinegar.”

Matt crumpled the last wrapper, satisfied. “Yeah. What’s it gonna do now? Give birth to them?”

They both stared at the dead machine.

“Fancy a toastie?” Steve asked.

Matt thought about it. “Nah. I’m sorted.”

He patted his stomach, stood up, and walked out, leaving Steve alone with twelve quid’s worth of crisp wrappers and the smell of vinegar all over the break room.

The End

Text © Lefki Karantoni