This story contains images that may disturb some, but is meant to teach, not glorify harm.
A little piece de resistance for Steak and Zuchcchini day.
Beware when the pursuit of greatness cuts too deep.
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I remember Mama Tree. She was once my whole life.
I was hers.
Entwined.
En-branched.
We worshipped nature’s balance. The balance in life.
And I remember that logger. The one who took Mama’s life.
Butchered her trunk.
My trunk.
And we became…
Butcher blocks.
Festering in the corner of Marrow and Vine.
You’d find it in a cosy corner of a gentrified district…one for the epicurians.
But few knew that we were its prisoners.
Forever trapped as witnesses to the violence of blades.
The ears that heard the cries of cut meat.
And the wallowing of marrow.
The taunts of Chef Calder Lim as he prepared his piece de resistance–reversed-aged sirloin on zucchini slices–
Rare.
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“Everyone!” Calder’s grating voice boomed through the kitchen.
His Sous Chef, Justine Chew, shot him a look dirtier than a diaper.
Ignoring the almost-malevolent stare, Calder held up a cut of meat.
Red.
Angry.
Eerie.
Almost diabolical.
A cut of lab-grown steak, which I just knew wasn’t animal.
Just…not.
The enormous walk-in fridge became a coffin.
A zucchini morgue.
And it didn’t ring with the vegan in Justine. She slammed the fridge door, squirming.
She drew her cutting board. Calder’s signature dish..at the expense of her soul.
She raised her cleaver over a slab of wagyu.
And stopped.
She was supposed to be alone in the kitchen.
But…
Whispers.
“Why chop?” The cry was faint.
Pleading.
She chalked it up to exhaustion…she had pulled an all-nighter to prepare for the next day’s culinary exam.
She hit the books after dinner. It was another long night.
One marked by an eerie green shade.
Her head rested on the table.
Green roots tugging.
And tugging.
They entrenched her in their centre.
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And Justine wasn’t the only one—
Rooted.
Calder, Head Chef, had begun losing his head–and his hands.
Steak ala Palm (his) became part of the day’s menu after his knife sliced into his hand mid-service.
He had placed it on the griddle, together with the other sizzling steaks.
And I, the block, found my strength growing.
And growing.
With the blood from Calder’s steaks.
The zucchinis became my watchmen.
They twisted.
Absorbed Calder’s trauma.
Losing their softness.
Justine knew she had to act—before anyone lost themselves.
She found herself at Marrow Vine’s tiny library, tucked in musty attic.
There, a tome. Covered in layers of dust.
Her mouth fell open.
Marrow Vine.
Built on sacred land.
The last Head Chef.
Vanished.
The last entry—
“The Zucchini watches you.”
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The day came. Calder’s big reveal. His human-sirloin steak zucchini combo.
A hit with the guests.
Until one bit into a zucchini.
That screamed.
The doors of the restaurant slammed shut.
Themselves.
I luminesced. A telepathic connection–
With Calder.
He began to stew.
Literally.
Besides the steaks.
Justine stood by, back against the wall, trembling.
I didn’t have to tell her.
She either joined us…or became a joint.
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Justine didn’t take.
With one fell blow from a cleaver, she smashed me in two.
She grabbed LPG from under a stove.
Poured the fluid over the floor.
Struck a match.
And ran.
I wasn’t all chopped up.
I was repurposed again.
A chic kitchen island in Justine’s new cooking show.
That whispered—
“It’s not about the finest steak and zucchini–it’s in restraint.”
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