Onion Dare

Flops accepts a seemingly harmless onion-eating challenge from The Stoat, only to flip the game by baiting him into biting an onion quietly smuggled in from The Dreamlands by Dook. Reality wobbles, memories scramble, and the trio part ways laughing, with The Stoat wisely swearing off onions for the foreseeable future.

Flops (leaning against the kiosk, bored) So what’s with the stare, maple menace?

The Stoat (sliding a raw onion onto the counter like contraband) Bet you can’t eat this. Whole. Under a minute.

Flops (squints at it) That’s it? No sauce? No grill? No—

The Stoat (checks an imaginary watch) Timer starts when you bite. Pride rules apply.

Dook (materializing beside Flops, holding a mug) I once watched a star eat itself. It cried less than you’re about to.

Flops (snorts, grabs the onion) Please. I’ve eaten gas-station sushi.

The Stoat (grinning) Thirty seconds.

Flops (bites hard) …CRUNCH.

Flops (two seconds later, eyes watering) Okay—still—fine—

Flops (chewing faster, voice cracking) Th’seem f—nn—

Dook (gently) You’re turning the color of regret.

Flops (halfway through, tears streaming, pacing) I’M NOT CRYING THE ONION IS ATTACKING ME—

The Stoat (counting down) Ten… nine…

Flops (shoves the rest in, cheeks full, emits a sound that should not exist) MMMRRRRGH—

The Stoat (ding noise with his mouth) Time.

Flops (freezes, then swallows, collapses onto the sidewalk) I can see sounds.

Dook (offers cocoa) For your soul.

The Stoat (already setting out another onion) Double or nothing?

Flops (weak thumbs-up) I hate you.

Dook (cheerful) Friendship!

Flops (slowly gets up, wipes his face with his sleeve, breathes out once) Okay.

The Stoat (smug, already victorious) See? Kiosk rules. Pride settled.

Flops (smirks, eyes still red, reaches into his jacket) Yeah. About that.

Flops (sets a second onion on the counter) Your turn.

The Stoat (blinks) Where’d you get another onion?

Dook (standing very still, hands behind his back, smiling like a child who has hidden a universe) …

Flops (taps the onion) Same rules. Whole. Under a minute.

The Stoat (narrows eyes, sniffs it) Smells… normal.

Flops (grinning wider) Oh, it is.

The Stoat (shrugs, bites immediately) CRUNCH.

The Stoat (two seconds in) Pfft. Easier than yours.

Flops (casually) By the way, that one’s from the Dreamlands.

The Stoat (freezes mid-chew) ...what.

Dook (softly, kindly) It remembers being eaten.

The Stoat (chewing resumes, then stops again) Why does it taste like my childhood and tax fraud?

The Stoat (eyes unfocus) Why is it whispering my name—

Flops (checks imaginary watch) Forty seconds left.

The Stoat (sweating, chewing faster) It’s… crunchy in directions—

The Stoat (voice echoes slightly, like he’s in a hallway) Why is the kiosk older than me—

Dook (tilts head) Oh. It reached the existential layer.

The Stoat (suddenly swallows, staggers back) I just lived three winters that didn’t happen.

Flops (deadpan) Time.

The Stoat (collapses onto a milk crate, staring into nothing) Do onions normally apologize?

Dook (brightly) Only the honest ones.

The Stoat (after a long pause) ...double or nothing?

Flops (already crying again, laughing this time) I knew you’d say that.

Dook (pulls out a third onion, glowing very faintly) I brought extras.

The Stoat (slowly stands up, shakes his head hard, like he’s trying to knock loose a bad signal) Nope—no—reset—

The Stoat (one last shake, then he exhales) Okay. Back in the kiosk. Mostly.

The Stoat (looks at Dook) ...I know you..

The Stoat (looks at Flops) ..And I know you.

The Stoat (rubs his eyes, forces a weak grin) Uuh, I think I’ve had enough onions for a while, eh.

Flops (trying not to laugh) Totally fair.

Dook (nods solemnly, lifts the faintly glowing onion) It agrees.

Dook (casually reaches between the outline of the snack rack, his arm passing through where shelves should be)

The air ripples slightly

Dook (withdraws his hand, now empty) Back where it can finish its thoughts.

The Stoat (stares at the rack) ...I’m not gonna ask.

Flops (finally loses it, laughing) Probably smart.

The Stoat (laughing too, a little shaky) Yeah. Yeah that’s.. that’s enough weird for one shift.

Dook (waves cheerfully) Goodbye! Guard your produce!

Flops (finger guns) Later, maple lord.

The Stoat (half-wave) Don’t come back with vegetables.

The trio (all laughing as Dook and Flops walk off down the sidewalk)

The Stoat (after they’re gone, muttering to himself) ...I’m switching to candy for a week.