Oblivion: Spade

I twist the Cap off the carton and stare into Oblivion.
It was a standard carton of supermarket value fruit juice. Nothing of anything sinister. My gaze drawn over that small opening, now an orifice for the silent void, a distinct rumble of an unseen tide quietly sloshing at it's own dimensions. I tried tilting the carton in the dim light of the dawning Sun. The small strands of light escaping the plastic shutters inadequate for illumination. I couldn't resist yawning but swiftly returned my inquisition of the everyday object (subject to the metaphysical investigation of what it really is.) of which it revealed nothing.

This is Julien de Spade reporting live from reality with the special guest Apple Juice. Taker of light. Silencer of answers. My bony figure standing nearly bare (except for a pair of silk underwear) in the chill glow of the fridge.

Nothing looked like a better option than the sweet prospect of nothing itself. I tilted the carton, the edge of our mutual vacuums connecting together and we were one. I couldn't see the juice, this invisible nectar pouring down my throat. The concrete flavour delivering the sharp kick to my tongue. My cheeks groaning with the volume as I swill it around my mouth.

I hear the thrashing guitar slowly build up; My room mates untended alarm. She wasn't in, and I was lost in my own mental space. The remnants of the obscured fluid going down. I wanted to hug the carton of juice. I wanted to tell it I'll fill the long infinitude of emptiness with my love. In less than an hour it'll be in the bin. The box used up, and heartbroken from my sudden depreciation. Our short commercial love affair gone.

It's been two days since I've known sleep. The calm luxury of lounging without worry. The thrashing guitars grow louder and more complex in rhythm, my ratty ears prick up with the harsh sounds. I plotted to Escape the catchy crescendo of Crust Punk, while the culinary catastrophe that is the kitchen stank from too many dishes. I had no energy or spoons. Another swill of the void passing my gums. I never feel like anything. I am liquid.

What have I become?

I am apple juice.