I noticed a trend. My posts filled with vile hate and bitterness haven’t been getting much love. I thought to thine own self I was supposed to remain true? I think what Shakespeare must have meant was to try that, at least until the comments start to go down. So this morning I woke up resolute and ready to do something different. I was going to write something happy, uplifting and full of joy. The following piece of Flash Friction is the result. Enjoy! –Ed
It was a day that started much like any other. My friends and I were chilling, as always, in The Bag.
Things with the wife were in a state of flux. I wasn’t quite as stay puft as I used to be. Of late the relationship was getting a bit stale.
Like often happens in times of melancholy, I found myself in my special place. I admit I was feeling a bit roasted. It was the far corner of The Bag and the place where the Holy Ingredients were listed. I’d been here so many times I’d long since memorized them all, and my eyes had long ago adjusted to the backwards printing.
… sugar … corn syrup … water … gelatin … dextrose … vanilla flavorings …
I was temporarily distracted by the first word on that list. The thought of being comprised of mostly sugar was a pleasing one. And yet, I could never avert my eyes from that other word. The word “gelatin.” Curse my modern education, I lamented, and not for the first time. I wished in vain that I had never learned about collagen or the fact that it was made from the skin inside pig skins and cattle bones.
I thought bitterly that snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails would have been a big step up for me. And so I sat and pondered other realities and might-have-beens as I cursed the innateness of myself.
Although I’d always been faithful, my wife suspected me of having a piece of fluff on the side. It was true that I’d been hanging out with Marlene who I had met at Burning Man, but we were just friends. Meanwhile my wife had been spending so much time with Magnus that I had suspicions of my own. Even if no actual cheating had taken place we were still on a rocky road.
No, I’m not rolling you. His name was actually Magnus the Marshmallow.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted. I looked up and witnessed The Great Tearing in The Bag. I couldn’t believe it. The prophecy was coming true. Marshmallow Armageddon was upon us.
I sprinted away, desperate to find my wife. Marshmallows were darting about frantically in every direction to such a degree that they all started to look the same. “Get out of my way, Mallard,” I yelled, pushing aside a particularly large friend of mine. Finally I spotted her just as the world was beginning to tilt.
Magnus, curse him, was there, trying to help her towards The Opening. Damn it! That was my job. I kicked him in the nards as I caught up with them. I took my wife’s hand as she turned and I saw the whites of her eyes. “To try be calm,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “Let’s go!”
She smiled and suddenly everything was right with the world. Hand in hand we allowed ourselves to be carried to the opening.
We landed in a strange new world and I was momentarily confused. Then I saw it, off in the distance. Exactly as it had been described. My wife saw it, too, and we began to run. We were the first and the rest of our bagmates slowly fell into line and began to follow.
Quickly we were there and there was little time for goodbyes. We both shouted, “I love you!” as we hurled ourselves onto the lightly tanned and crumbly surface just as giant bars of chocolate came down and squeezed us tight. The time of The S’Moring was at hand.