The Emergency Biscuit Meeting
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Original fictional practice material created for NarrativeForge with AI assistance. Adapt for your own learning. This is an editable writing sample, not a native NarrativeForge project file.

“Before we begin,” said June, “I want it recorded that this is not a meeting.”

Owen put down his notebook. “Should I record that?”

“No.”

He picked up his pen.

“Also no,” June said.

At the end of the table, Priya opened the biscuit tin. She looked inside, shut it, and slid it carefully away from herself.

June watched the tin travel. “We all know why we're here.”

“I don't,” Owen said. “The invitation said essential kitchen maintenance.”

“Exactly.”

“I brought a screwdriver.”

He placed it beside the sugar bowl. Priya moved the biscuit tin a little farther away.

June folded her hands. “Someone has been returning this tin to the cupboard with one biscuit left in it.”

“A considerate person,” Owen said.

“A person avoiding responsibility for buying biscuits.”

“That too.”

Priya coughed. “Perhaps the last biscuit is a communal resource.”

“It is half a digestive,” June said.

“Resources can be scarce.”

June opened the tin. Inside lay a folded paper napkin.

All three looked at it.

“That's new,” Owen said.

June unfolded the napkin. In the middle, carefully centered, sat a crumb.

Priya leaned forward. “We should establish a minimum viable biscuit.”

Owen reached for his notebook.

“This is still not a meeting,” June said.

“Then I can leave?” Priya asked.

“After we've agreed the purchasing rota.”

Priya sat back. Owen wrote something down.

June pointed at the notebook.

“Shopping list,” he said.

There was a knock at the open door. A delivery driver held up a box large enough to contain a printer.

“Forty-eight packets of assorted biscuits?”

June looked at Priya. Priya looked at Owen. Owen looked, briefly and with considerable tenderness, at his screwdriver.

“They were on offer,” he said.

June stood. “Good. Then this discussion is over.”

The driver handed her a second box.

“And the forty-eight tins?”

Owen closed his notebook.