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Marcie’s Waffles Are the Best in Town Sunil Patel

By Dario Bijelac
By Dario Bijelac

The diner was closed forever. The Closed sign hung on the door, redundant as a spoon in a cup of soup, but Marcie would never turn it over. Never take it down. It was her way of keeping the riffraff out, and these days, there was a hell of a lot of riffraff.

They could smell the syrup. Her supply was running out, but she sprayed ammonia around the doors and windows when she warmed it up. It wasn’t enough, but it could dull the smell. She had the shotgun for any unwelcome visitors and a dwindling stock of meat in the freezer for any welcome ones. The former never made it to the door, but she always checked the latter through the glass to see if they were going bad. One look at Alice, though, and she knew she deserved better than meat.

She fixed the girl some waffles, and the diner filled with the aroma of warm batter. They both inhaled in silence. A much more comforting smell than the sizzle of dead things, Marcie thought. The girl offered her name as a courtesy, and the two syllables wafted through the air and mixed with the scent in Marcie’s mind. The girl looked the right age, too, about 14. This felt right. Like before.

When Marcie slapped a couple waffles onto a plate, Alice’s eyes went wide like she’d only been eating rocks for weeks. For all Marcie knew, she had. She was gaunt, ribs showing through the rags she had on, hair a mess. A scratch on her left cheek, deep. Marcie didn’t ask where it came from, but as she traced the path on her own face, she thought it could have come from fingers. Or what used to be fingers.

“This is real nice,” Alice said, between hungry gulps, barely chewing. “What’s that blue stuff in it?”

“Blueberries,” said Marcie. Last ones she had, but that didn’t matter as long as she still had chocolate chips

“Huh. My mom never put blueberries in waffles.” A pause, the next words crawling out as if fighting against a memory. “Fruit in waffles, that’s so weird.” The pall passed, and as she returned to eating, her face was joyful, satiated. In the right light, at the right moments, she looked like Cynda. Just in those fleeting seconds, and then she didn’t, not because of the light but because Marcie chose not to see her. She would never see her again, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to see her in this outcast waif who just stumbled in out of the wastelands. Not this one, not the last one, not any one of the godda–

Marcie relaxed her grip on the syrup bottle. She’d almost broken the handle. Couldn’t have that.

From behind the counter, Marcie watched Alice devour her food as she’d done with her customers before the Meltdown. Her favorite customer was a big trucker named Maximilian who insisted on being called Maximilian, never Max. He wouldn’t respond to Max, and Marcie loved seeing the passers-through try to engage with him. They didn’t know the code to interacting with him. They didn’t have that connection, not like she did.

Maximilian was out there. Maybe he’d found Cynda. Maybe he would take care of her.

Alice gulped down half a glass of water. Milk would have been better, but it had gone sour as Marcie’s business some time ago. One by one, her staples went bad. That’s how the people went too. One by one.

“So they don’t come in here?” Alice said with trepidation.

“No,” said Marcie. “They don’t come in here.”

“Not ever?”

“The door holds. The sign says Closed.”

Alice chuckled, then let it linger, like she hadn’t laughed at anything in ages. “I don’t think they read signs, lady.”

Maybe the shape of the sign, the length of the word, was a signal burned into the back of their brains, like a red light. They‘d respond to it like fire: stay away.

Cynda never cared what the sign said. She’d push the door open and call, “Yo, Moms, how about some choco waffles?” She’d take her seat at the counter and ask what Max had done today. She never called him Maximilian when he wasn’t around. Everything was short with her; Marcie was surprised she actually pronounced the entire word “waffles.”

The day of the Meltdown, Cynda left the diner with the words “Coulda used more syrup.”

Alice picked at her plate with the fork, soaking the bits of waffle in syrup. Marcie’s eyes narrowed. Stupid, stupid of her to let her in. She’d given her too much syrup. She had to keep some back. Waffle mix, chocolate chips, syrup. The essentials.

So much syrup left on Alice’s plate. It was going to go to waste. But Marcie could salvage it. This girl had had enough. She’d gotten more than the last one. It had been six days since Khaalidah looked through the glass door, her pleading eyes like Cynda’s when Marcie wouldn’t take her to IHOP. Not as chatty as this one. This one, sitting in someone else’s seat. They were all sitting in someone else’s seat.

“Get out,” Marcie spat, grabbing the plate.

Alice had some waffle in her mouth, and she almost choked in surprise. She chewed quickly and swallowed before squeaking, “What?”

“Get the fuck out of my diner.” Marcie stared at her with dead eyes.

“Okay, okay, lady,” said Alice, pushing herself away from the counter, scrambling to keep her balance. “Thanks for the waffles.” She didn’t look back. She ran to the door.

The sign said “Open.”

Alice threw the door outward and fled back into the wastelands. As the door shut, a bell rang.

There were a few pieces of waffle still left on Alice’s plate, not dry. Marcie picked them up and began squeezing to extract the syrup.

The diner was closed forever.

© Sunil Patel

Meet the Author

Sunil Patel

Sunil Patel

Sunil Patel is a Bay Area fiction writer and playwright who has written about everything from ghostly cows to talking beer. His plays have been performed at San Francisco Theater Pub and San Francisco Olympians Festival, and his fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Saturday Night Reader, Fireside Magazine, The Book Smugglers, Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, and Genius Loci: Tales of the Spirit of Place. Plus, he reviews books for Lightspeed. His favorite things to consume include nachos, milkshakes, and narrative. Find out more at, where you can watch his plays, or follow him @ghostwritingcow. His Twitter has been described as “engaging”, “exclamatory”, and “crispy, crunchy, peanut buttery.”

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  1. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:14 pm

    numbatwoman Cecily_Kane the only one we have in English (the possessive) modifies an entire noun *phrase* – it’s one of those things I’d +


  2. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:14 pm

    numbatwoman Cecily_Kane well, that last sort of brain-jarring thing was when I learned what a clitic was and had it pointed out to me that


  3. numbatwoman
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:13 pm

    asymbina Cecily_Kane I’ve studied linguistics and I edit transcripts; you’re gonna have to try harder than that to melt mine 😉


  4. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:12 pm

    Cecily_Kane numbatwoman ghostwritingcow (which is still a title that makes me giggle like a fiend)


  5. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:12 pm

    Cecily_Kane numbatwoman ghostwritingcow until I read that blog post. (Actually, read it in book form, Far from the Madding Gerund.)


  6. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:11 pm

    Cecily_Kane numbatwoman ghostwritingcow the different conjugations of “lie [tell a falsehood]” vs “lie [recline]” didn’t even dawn on me


  7. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:11 pm

    numbatwoman asymbina ghostwritingcow Gah this is so ass


  8. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:10 pm

    asymbina numbatwoman ghostwritingcow Hahaha lolsob


  9. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:10 pm

    numbatwoman Cecily_Kane ghostwritingcow do you also find yourself confused by Mötorhead songs and playing cards? 😉


  10. numbatwoman
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:08 pm

    asymbina Cecily_Kane ghostwritingcow “I don’t see what’s asexual about this fighter pilot at a-ohhhhhh” -me like every week :v


  11. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:08 pm

    Cecily_Kane numbatwoman ghostwritingcow If you want to have your brain melt for a bit, read this:


  12. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:07 pm

    asymbina numbatwoman ghostwritingcow the word distinction had never occurred to me, because different segments of my brain I think.


  13. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:06 pm

    asymbina numbatwoman ghostwritingcow I’ve been ranting on why we don’t talk more than passing (oof also?) the Bechdel for a while and +


  14. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:05 pm

    asymbina Lol ya. And thanks numbatwoman for pointing it out. + ghostwritingcow


  15. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:04 pm

    TroyLWiggins ghostwritingcow nobody is ready for those kinds of waffles. ;-;


  16. TroyLWiggins
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:03 pm

    asymbina ghostwritingcow so very apocalyptic. I just…I wasn’t ready.


  17. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:01 pm

    TroyLWiggins ghostwritingcow APOCALYPTIC waffles.


  18. ghostwritingcow
    June 3, 2015 @ 10:00 pm

    TroyLWiggins I did warn you.


  19. TroyLWiggins
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:56 pm

    ghostwritingcow never thought i’d feel so emotional about a story involving waffles. But here we are.


  20. ghostwritingcow
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:49 pm

    TroyLWiggins Thanks, man!


  21. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:49 pm

    Cecily_Kane numbatwoman ghostwritingcow (NB: “word” is a verb in that tweet)


  22. asymbina
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:43 pm

    Cecily_Kane numbatwoman ghostwritingcow yes, English words very hard


  23. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:34 pm

    numbatwoman ghostwritingcow Gah, right. English language has so many words, overlaps were such a problem already


  24. numbatwoman
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:28 pm

    Cecily_Kane ghostwritingcow go back in time and scream YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU DO at the first people who started shortening it to ace


  25. Cecily_Kane
    June 3, 2015 @ 9:19 pm

    numbatwoman Oh dear, sorry about that :/ ghostwritingcow


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