Curse of Pizza Palace
Flash Fiction
Plastic tubes stretched throughout the ceiling. Children’s laughter enchanted the ball pits below. Parents and babysitters sat on stools, exchanging glances on each other’s phones. Cheese and sauce aromas filled the air, all the pizza a kid could eat, baked fresh from gigantic stone ovens.
Zoe gazed upon the kingdom, wearing her pizza print dress. Its flowing waves resembled melted cheese. Mushroom scrunchies adorned her hair and a false onion adorned her belt. She sat atop a beanbag chair, a throne befitting a pizza princess.
“My subjects, bow.”
Kids on rubber monkey bars above a ball pit turned themselves upside-down, the closest thing to bowing possible.
She smirked. “Who wants to be my knights?”
A boy in a dinosaur shirt climbed toward her. “Do I get a sword?”
“Maybe. Carry me to the tubes, Sir Robert.”
“My name’s Jack.”
“You’re Robert because I say so.”
Another boy wearing a robot shirt, Sir Skye, took one side and Sir Robert took the other. They carried her beanbag chair like a sedan across the ball pit, their legs wobbling and stumbling with each step.
She groaned. “Sir Robert and Sir Skye, I swear, if you drop me, I’ll starve you in my dungeon.”
Sir Skye whimpered. “I don’t like this game anymore.”
Zoe put on her wildest smile. Power rushed through her veins, her fists pumping faster than her heart, absolute control over others, every egomaniac’s fantasy. She looked below at the parents and babysitters, human dolls, easy to manipulate. One cry, one plea, one cute face, and any adult would do anything for her. She scanned the crowd. Who to control next?
A babysitter showed her phone to her boyfriend. “I posted this meme on my feed.”
The boyfriend laughed. “Where the hell did you find that?”
Zoe’s mouth swung open, silent rage flowing from her mouth like steam from a frying pan. Her eyebrows furrowed, and face turned mozzarella pale.
H
E
Double Hockey Sticks
A bad word. A terrible word. A word no one should ever say, especially not before children, not before the sacred hall of joy, not before Pizza Palace’s true ruler.
Sir Skye set down his side. “Princess Zoe?”
Rage poured from her throat like acidic vinegar, her face overcooked cheese, eyes bloodshot pepperoni, and voice olive black. “How dare they?”
Sir Robert yawned. “Who dared what now?”
She cracked her knuckles. “Punish the grown-ups.”
Sir Skye adjusted his glasses. “I don’t like this game. I’m playing Whacky Gator.”
She grabbed his wrist. “No.”
Sir Skye pulled her away. “You scare me and I’m sick of doing what you want. Bye.” He ran toward the arcade, its flashing lights and video glow a welcoming embrace.
“Traitor.” She gave him a cold anchovy glare. “Sir Robert?”
He stood not with her, but his parents. “Can’t I stay one more hour? Please?”
Zoe climbed from her beanbag throne. “I’ll do it myself.”
She approached the two adults, the man holding his sides. The babysitter swiped her phone, showing her boyfriend cat memes.
He wiped tears from his eyes and laughed. “Stop, please, you’re making my ass hurt.”
Zoe locked eyes with the man and pointed straight at him like an accusing demon, every sin he’s committed weighting upon her crusty nails. “You.”
He composed himself. “Hi, kid. That’s a cute outfit.”
Zoe’s glare sizzled stronger than a jalapeno heartburn. She reached for the table, a half-eaten pie, with a pizza cutter on the platter. “Off with your head!”
The two adults laughed, until Zoe swung the pizza cutter, its edge inches from the boyfriend’s neck. A molten smile cracked onto her face. She spun its circular blade, relishing every drop of oily fear trickling down the boyfriend’s leg.
“You cursed.” Zoe raised her pizza cutter and jumped like a flea toward blood. She jerked the pizza cutter’s steel blade toward her victim and —
A staff member pulled her away.
“Unhand me!” She flailed her arms, the pizza cutter spinning like a buzzsaw in her hand. “I am The Pizza Princess! Obey or feel my wrath!”
The employee snatched the pizza cutter from her hands. “Calm yourself.”
“I’ll calm when I want! I’ll do what I want! And you’ll do what I say!”
He gripped tighter. “I’m the adult. You’re the child. Understand?”
Zoe gave her coldest, rottenest, week-old moldiest hiss.
“You don’t like the way he talks. I understand.”
She sneered. “Don’t tell me how I feel, henchman.”
“People will say things you dislike. You need to deal with that. If you want people to respect you, you need to respect them.”
She fell silent and relaxed her muscles.
The employee smiled. “People come here to have fun, not to serve you. Well, we serve you pizza, but that’s because you’re customers.”
Zoe nodded and faced the floor.
“Hey, it’s okay. No one got hurt. Just remember, you’re here for fun too, because you’re like everyone else. Is some adult making strange noises with his mouth going to ruin your fun? There’s a whole world out there of tubes, ball pits, and pizza. Think you can see that and not one little thing that that irks you?”
Zoe sniffled.
“I’ll let you go and we’ll forget this happened, but first, you owe someone an apology.”
The boyfriend stood before Zoe. “Going to apologize, little lady?”
Her hands twitched and eyes narrowed.
The boyfriend held his neck. Blood trickled beneath his bandaged neck. “I hope you become Princess Punching Bag in juvie!”
Zoe screeched and struggled, her hands and legs bound by two handcuffs. Her face distorted and voice ran hoarse, her fury beyond her feeble kid body. Tears ran down her salty sausage face.
