And sat around the table, the guests turn to the host, who smiles and stands and drunkenly tries to fetch the speech from inside his jacket. Some of the guests, more drunk than he, cover their mouths, afraid to laugh, afraid that they may spit out some food.
“Ah, to hell with it”, he slurs, finally giving up on his rummage, and he raises his glass of blood red wine “To new friends.” His guests all cheer and guzzle theirs, to clink the glasses down on the wooden table with a refreshed and unified “Ahh!”
“And” continues the host intent on finishing his few words with a joyous declaration of the fine food to come, “And… and… oh” he stumbles a little, with a body more alcohol than water, to right himself with a smile, “And may they taste better than the old ones.”
And as if on cue, two long pigs are rolled out, humans on spits, cooked to a crisp. The assembly gasp and cheer, their mouths wide open with excited shock mimicking the toothless yawns of their meals. The apples had already been eaten.