by Laura Garrison

My husband's parents were on their way, and I had burned the chicken. It was time to find out if this new oven was worth what we had paid for it. I pressed the button marked "Reverse." As I watched through the window, the black smoke disappeared while the charred skin turned golden and then pinkish-white. The carcass sprouted feathers, the head and feet grew back, and then it was shrinking so quickly that by the time I registered the bewildered expression on the downy chick's face she was no more than a brown egg balanced on the wire rack. My mother-in-law was not going to be pleased.


Laura Garrison lives in Maryland. She enjoys drinking tea, taking naps, and doodling.