Welcome to my first creative fiction post!
Hope you like!
- Jo
It is night… It is dark and I’ve gone nowhere, spending the day inside my queen-sized bed, electric blanket on and off and on again, perhaps twenty times already, perhaps fifteen, sixteen, its polyester fibres sending poison vibes throughout my nervous system.
I hate plastic.
It is a love/hate lofe avair.
I look over at the silence and I notice a couple of round pills on the bedside table.
“I thought I’d taken these!”, I stated to deaf ears. And then I saw a couple more. A half-chewed grey one a short distance away, staring at me faceless, noseless, eyeless. Clueless, you might say.
And then a strange smell took over my dried-out nostrils. Was it caramel latte, or a leftover forbidden treat I thought I didn’t touch? My eyes dashed to the right, as though I’d caught a glimpse of some wrongdoing; only it wasn’t mine, but probably some worn-out prisoner’s enchanting unison of left and right haemispherial delights that had escaped while he was sleeping.
That cup of tea’s been lying there for days! (slurps). I take a sip and it’s still warm, its thermal fissures enveloping my sore and dirty tongue, dripping debris that even I did not care to identify. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway! And why should you?? Were you around when I would stare at the globelight, white and bold, yet soothing to my cornea as it peered across the corner, illuminating the paint job any five year-old could have mastered better than the scratches and the dents they left behind? They’ve even painted over the power sockets!
So that’s where they went!
A bottle of pure water has been detected on the frozen marmor floor. Yep. You guessed it - in plastic. I hate plastic! I couldn’t care less if it came from the Royal Spring of the Gods in Heaven.
I.hate.plastic.
And yet it fascinates me. Much like that cup of tea that’s been next to my acheing head, night after night. It still hasn’t grown hairs. Although… I never checked.
Would you believe that it’s still warm?… Hot, in fact. Hot like oven doors placed side by side in those kitchens of Italian restaurants in faraway places. Like Estonia, maybe. Ever been to Estonia? Lovely place, indeed. Don’t remember much about it, but I do remember that I was fond of it once. Couldn’t tell you when. It was before my time. Perhaps I dreamt it. Perhaps it was just a fantasy. Or even an illusion. I get those a lot, especially when I’m pressured to remain intact.
I hate reality… I hate it more than plastic! At least you can make lovely vinyl records out o’ plastic. You know, The Beatles and all. But you can’t make records out of reality. Well - not ones you can spin on a turntable, anyway. Those types of records are everywhere… but you don’t want nothing to do with those. They’re full of liiies and deceit! They’ll only bring you down. Ruin your family and everyone they’ve ever known. The ones that are still living. Above the ground. Those ones below won’t be listening to any of those records. Not on the turntable and not in the filing cabinet, either.
Oh yeah, I forgot… There’s probably no filing cabinets, anymore! This is 2024. Whatever happened to all those filing cabinets, anyway? Did they all get melted down and turned into robots? Now that’d be something! Those robots - you know… A-I… They’re probably loaded with all those old files, they’ll be like proper walking, talking people, programmed with old medical files of the deceased. What a dream! And that’s supposed to be the new generation?? What do we call ‘em nowadays? Generation A, B and Type O Negative??… That last one was a band, I know. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know! I may have lived a little too long, loved a little too much, dreamed a little too often and worked a little too hard… probably drank a little too much from those putrid plastic bottles, too.
I HATE plastic.
The Plastic Generation! That’s what we’ll call them!
= END =
Thanks for reading… and listening! More fiction is on its way!