Longest Spell Yet (DM)

The counter is sticky and has been for the past week.  You wish they weren’t so casual about cleanliness.  You’re already on borrowed time, just living out your days with two people who took you in.  You feel out of place, you long for your home, for your independence, but those days are gone.

There’s nothing much for you to do.  You sit and wait for the voices to return from work.  Sometimes you get lucky and one of them leaves the TV in the kitchen on.  You wish you could flip stations, but you don’t mind watching the cheesy morning talk shows followed by a soap opera or two and concluding with Opera, or some television justice program.

It’s been either six or seven days since Bob and Sue took you in.  They don’t pay you much attention.  You have mixed feelings about that.  Bob sort of wiped down the sticky counter earlier today, but you can still see a streak of honey from when Sue missed her teacup.  There is a coffee ring or two on the counter, it is no longer as visible as before Bob’s wiping, but it’s still there, just faded from exposure to the sun, or the bottom of a paper towel. 

Granny Smith had told you stories all your life about the countless others who have suffered the same fate.  It’s not necessarily tragic, in a sense the tragic ones are those who are never twice removed from their home, the ones who never get picked at the Market.  You used to envy them, but as you’re going on your ninth day at Bob and Sue’s house you have a sense of relief to be out of the market.  You’re happy to be sitting on a somewhat dirty counter next to a banana you cannot communicate with. 

It is on the eleventh day that Sue picks you up and gently places you at the bottom of a brown paper bag.  She holds you for a second, maybe two and you feel the warmth of her hand.  Her hand is so soft, softer and smoother somehow than your skin.  Inside the bag you are happy that you’re not resting against the rough paper bottom, you feel blessed that the turkey, or maybe pickle loaf sandwich is below you.  It seems to make sense since the sandwich is protected by a smooth piece of plastic, still not as smooth as Sue’s hand.  You think back to the day she picked you and took you away from the market, how lovely it felt to be cradled in her hand.  You look forward to Sue pulling you out of the bag one last time and keeping you in her hand for the longest spell yet.

Comments

[Andre]

Nice. I didn't realize you were still posting stuff. I thought it was just while you were in Japan.

[Dan]

Searching for an identity. But still at it.