From conception, we were predestined for greatness. At least, that’s what he tells us. We have spent our entire lives here, growing and developing in this loam soil we call home. Grasping at the sand, silt, and clay, our roots penetrate the perfectly acidic earth we have been given. Absorbing all the nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium we can hold, we reach our peak moment of fruition.
That’s when he rips us from our stalk, separates us from our family, and robs us of our home. It’s been said that those that leave the stalk are rebirthed into a glorious afterlife, full of peace and harmony. We can only hope that to be true.
He continues to rip our brethren from their stalks until he’s had his fill. Then, we’re taken away from the comforting scent of manure and grass and thrown into a giant barrel. Side-by-side we wait, wracked with fear and anxiety, for his return. After a while, we can’t be sure how long, for the darkness warps our sense of time, we hear the clomp of his heavy work boots returning. We hear the metallic churning of a machine. We hear the blades and feel its vibrations rattling the ground beneath us.
We feel the barrel containing us lift and pull away as we’re thrown into the top pan of the machine. Those at the top of the barrel are the first to be crushed, pulverized into mush by this beastly machine. We hear the screams of the ones before us, calling for mercy. Their sickly-sweet scent covers the air like a blanket. Those of us who are unfortunate enough to be at the bottom of the barrel must endure their screams more than anyone should have to.
After hearing the machines silence our loved ones, us from the bottom eventually silence as well and accept our fate. This is the end. It felt so short in retrospect, but our lives have been so full of sunshine and fresh air that we felt at peace. That’s when the last of us went through the machine.
We thought that would be the end, but, after emerging from the other side, our bodies join the rest of our brethren in the primordial soup we were said to have originated from. Our bodies are now a collective mass, yet our minds retain their individual consciousness, communicating chemically through aroma and reaction. We are put back into the barrel that we were confined to before The Crushing and left to sit for what felt like months, but some say it was merely a few weeks. Thankfully, the weather was warm, so we could exist in comfort, but soon the heat became unbearable as part of our bodily essence leaked out and turned into liquid that exuded a pungent scent of a stinging nature. Then, once again, we hear the steps of his return.
This time, no fear would taint our consciousness, for we now know nothing can obliterate us. Our bodies may transform, but our souls continue and grow. He goes on to filter out our pulpy bodies, leaving only our essence. Our higher consciousness continues while the rest was left to lie with the pulp. He pours our essence into dark bottles and leaves us until he is ready to pluck us from our shelves, remove the cork containing us, pour us into a glass, and take a sip.
© 2021 Writings by Z
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