Vegetables

NB: This was a writing exercise to take two character traits and write an scene showing a transition between them. I ended up with nihilistic to reckless.

What is the point? She is the sun, the moon and the stars, and you? You’re a potato, a radish or a turnip. Some kind of root vegetable.

And really, aren’t we all vegetables? Everyone thinks they’re organic and pesticide-free, but we’re all rotting inside, just hopeless mush and a pit that’s non-compostable.

Everyone is the same. Why would she say yes? Ten, twenty years from now she’ll be blazing in the sky and you will be mulching in a food bin, wallowing in your own festering juices.

So why bother?

Everyone is a vegetable. You should do as they do and bury yourself in the soil, pretend no one else exists. And who’s to say they do?

But if no one else exists, surely you’re the only vegetable around. The sun, the moon and the stars, they only shine for you.

Nothing matters, so reach out. Ask the question. You’ll be ash or compost, fertiliser either way.

Do it.

There’s no reason not to.

There’s no reason to do anything at all!

“Excuse me?” you say.

She turns her head and her hair falls like rivers of plasma down her shoulders. “Yes?”

“Will you—” Your words catch in your throat. “May I have one of your chips?”