Two in one week? What is this madness!?
Yes, my dear follower, I am doing another! Because hey, why not. It's not like I'm doing anything else. I figured it was high time to start taking this whole writing nonsense seriously again.
Anyway, here goes!
-------------------------
Thing 45: Your most transcedent ice cream experience
Jared yawned as his slippered feet slid across the tiles, slowly but surely bringing him toward the freezer. It was 5:37 AM, and if he were being honest with himself he was mighty tired, but this was his weekend. No job, no girlfriend -- just the sweet freedom to do whatever he damn well pleased.
And you know what? He damn well pleased some damn ice cream.
He stopped for a moment at that, furrowing his brow as he tried to determine if that thought actually made any sense. Through the haze of the lateness of the hour (and possibly the lingering alcohol in his system) he couldn't be sure, but his keenly-trained literary mind was leaning toward a definite "no." Still, he wasn't nearly confident enough for his liking.
I guess that degree in english literature really wasn't good for anything. Mom was right.
Scowling now, he ripped open the freezer, not even flinching as the door collided madly with the cabinets and bounced slowly back toward him. It was a bit of a sorry sight inside, considering the number of frozen pizzas he had engorged over the past few days, but like a shining beacon the box he knew to be present sat prominently at the fore of an otherwise empty shelf.
Ice cream. Cookies and cream, no less. For some reason he'd always been a bit ashamed to admit it, but that was his favourite flavour. He supposed that particular thought process had something to do with his father's irrational fear of salmonilla. He ignored it with a shrug, managing to find the perfect balance between abject rage and utter nonchalance.
It was that kind of weekend.
He grabbed the box with a tired hand and slid it off the shelf, letting it and the arm that held it drop lazily to his side as he shuffled toward the cutlery drawer. His empty hand fished around in the thing and pulled out the first spoon it found. The fact that this spoon was nearly the size of his fist was irrelevant. It's intended purpose was supposed to be gravy or some such, but he figured it would work for ice cream just as well. After all, he wasn't planning on using a bowl, so having a spoon that doubled as one was probably the next best thing.
Utensil in hand, he dragged his feet and made his way to the living room, being sure to headbutt the freezer closed on his way past. The impact was a small one, but it did manage to wake him up ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it allowed him to muster enough latent energy to hop over the back of hte couch when he arrived at it, landing with a resounding thud with perfectly complimented the kung fu movie still fruitlessly playing on his TV. It was some kind of marathon, but he hadn't really been paying attention. It was mindless, and he appreciated that. Why think? Waste of time, really, all things considered.
He sighed and took another look at the box before him. The packaging was different from what he remembered. Then again, it had been a very long time since he'd had any ice cream at all. Stacey was lactose intolerant.
Screw you, Stacey, he thought. You made your choice.
He popped off the top and let it tumble to the floor, wasting no time in injecting his monstrosity of a spoon into the hardened creamery. It was no easy task, but by now he was determined, and nothing was going to stop him, so a few odd grunts and more effort than he cared to admit later, he was happily munching on his prize. It tasted... different. But no, now it was a matter of pride. Who cared what it tasted like? This was the ice cream of triumph. It was a celebration of freedom and independence and being able to produce lactase. Unlike some people. Stupid Stacey.
Hey, is the room supposed to be spinning like this?
As the walls leaned toward him he began to question a great many things. Who was he talking to? Did he even ask that question out loud? Why did this taste like purple?
He was reasonably certain that this was not the normal ice cream-eating experience. Yes, something was decidedly different. But what? And less importantly, why? Unable to put any of his eleven fingers on the former, he directed a raised eyebrow down toward the ice cream's lid, sitting happily on the carpet. Reaching his leg over the couch's parapet, he wrapped a tentacled appendage around the thing and turned it so that he could see the other side.
It just so happened that the expiry date was written there, and from his high vantage point, plainly visible.
Ten years. It had been expired for ten years.
There was a quiet moment then. Well, relatively quiet. The strange hum emanating from pretty much everything in the room was a bit daunting, but htere was a strange peace to it, and now that the screaming had died down he had a precious window to dwell on this new development.
With a shrug, he brought the spoon to his lips...
No comments:
Post a Comment