Cheeseburger in Paradise
The only thing he could think was how ridiculous this news was about forced vegetarianism. In his life he'd served in the army, and he'd come home with shrapnel in his leg as a permanent souvenir. Against his dead wife's wishes he'd kept working for the army, using his permanent limp to inspire young men to take up arms. It had been more than enough that his pension could be in jeopardy with nations all over the world disband their armies, because who was going to take care of the old coots like him who'd given their whole lives to the army. Now they were taking away his right to eat a goddamn burger. It was goddamn ridiculous. Disgusted he turned off the television and headed towards his kitchen.
Opening the fridge he surveyed what he still had now that he wasn't going to be able to buy more. There was a steak marinating on the top shelf, waiting for dinner tonight and some chicken for tomorrow. He checked the freezer as well, which also had a few options including two packs of bacon he'd bought on sale in bulk and some fish left over from his last fishing trip. Grumbling he imagine that would be out of the question as well, fishing. Hunting as well. Nestled under a few other things was a package of pre-made hamburger patties. He would leave those for last and cherrish them.
It was disgusting what people would do in the name of peace and freedom. He'd witness the worst of it with his own eyes, relived it in his nightmares at night. But even after trudging in the jungle or desert somewhere, on a mission that his own government would deny if he didn't came back he'd not seen anything as ridiculous as this. A man had to get up every morning and work to a closer death or risk his life and he did it because he knew he could come home and eat something smaller and weaker than he was. Now they were taking that basic right away. Goddamn governments and their goddamn liberal ideas. This was a fucking sham.
Still angry he went out to the small patio behind his house. The yard was in disarray with his wife not around to bitch at him about taking care of it. The only item not dusted with snow, overgrown with neglect or rusted beyond repair was the grill. And what grill it was. He fired it up quickly then dashed back inside away from the cold. Next he took out the steak, rubbing it with spices to season it and after donning his winter coat he took it outside to set it to cook on the warm grill. He braved the bitter wind, not turning into the warmer confines of the house. If this was going to be his last steak he was going to enjoy it. Silently he prayed something that he never thought he'd pray before: that death would come before peace set in. An old soldier who liked his steak rare had no place in this world.