Life began, as always, as a gelatinous blob on the end of a nozzle that ejected me into the mould that would forever shape my existence. That nozzle had already decided what colour I would enter the world as; and in retrospect I would have chosen to be purple or even yellow, any other colour than green. I mean, trust fate to decide that I should be the least popular of all flavours; to be starch powder coated and castigated, kicking and screaming into a cruel and unforgiving world for crimes unknown. So there I was, dumped into the big yellow bag containing several of my kind; and other flavoured ethnicities.
The bickering and posturing had begun at that point, a type of race related segregation. Ridiculous really, considering that we were cast from the same mould. I seemed to be the only one to realise that sublime truth. A truth that made quickly made me the enemy of my own kind. As the only voice of dissent, I was cast into a dark corner to wallow in my own juices. My future however would not be as sweetly dusted as I had been in that situation; unless I could somehow do something to change it.
The others had bickered constantly; the worst antagonists were the yellows and greens, they were infinitely sourer at our shared situation than the purples and the reds were. So much so, that after several months they too began to annoy me. They seemed almost too sweet in their handling of the tension caused by their own endless bickering; and yet pretention aside, they appeared to be highly tolerant of their neighbours. Almost too sweet, their mucilaginous posturing and negotiating rapidly became sickly and rapidly eroded at my sanity.
I was the outsider which in a bagful of brethren; leaves one feeling oh so alone. It was a feeling that stayed with me over those first weeks and I eventually descended into a sullen silence. My deepening contemplations made me the introvert that only now can speak so freely.
As the long months passed by, the others did manage to find a small measure of mutual respect that warmed this outsider somewhat. However, it soon became apparent that they simply became a little more tolerant of each other. Yet in the uneasy silences that often passed, I often felt the paranoia from furtive glances and the starched sarcasm that became the staple of their conversations.
Their personalities seemed to mingle over time; they rubbed off on each other from frequent contacts. Each slowly and subtly took on the tang of each other’s diverse flavours. A shame that I, as the outsider, was the only one that seemed to notice those changes in them. Tensions, however were about to erupt in a completely different way. As we entered the summer of love, things really had begun to hot up in there.
I remember it well, that summer; my Googlings have informed me that it was one of the hottest on record. Summers that is. Those records go on much longer than my shelf life I can tell you. Those Brits are obsessed with the weather, I think it’s largely due to the fact that they like an excuse to stay indoors Facebooking each other’s walls; but we’ll get to the weird habits of humans later. Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, the summer of love. Well it actually started out as a summer of war. There was a pernicious period of raging sunshine that raised the heat in the big yellow bag that year, I’ll tell you. As the temperatures rose, so did the tempers of our residents.
The arguments became constant and the fractious factions were all but at war. Amazing that we were all born of the same jelly and yet colour became the reason for segregation. The weakest minority in the bag was the pretty little white woman that none would affiliate with, yet she held my attention and caused me a certain stiffness of being that her cherished memory became entrenched in me. I know how I longed to taste her, to know her flavour and her name. Funny, how lonely it gets in there. Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, her lack of colour made her a target by sweet and sour alike; and soon she became the centre of the soaring tempers and the butt of the racist chanting. I saw her as a rare and exquisite beauty, anyway I’ll tell more about her later. The second minority were the reds; there were only three of them. Five yellows, six orange, six black and nine of ‘us’ greens. Or eight of those greens, and one of, well me really; and the single little white woman. Her name is Clarice, by the way. It’s funny, looking back how the greater numbers of us greens still made us into a minority; but it did. It was generally considered that there was something unnatural about us.
They each tried to maintain territory, a trifle difficult with six flavours and only four corners. After a week of pointless border- controls, we (Clarice and I) managed an uneasy truce with the yellows. As I rationalised with them, they and the reds were a minority and together we drew a greater strength in numbers. The reds had a habit of bickering amongst themselves and soon discovered that they were fairly powerless to intimidate others. So their bullying rapidly fell back on their own kind. Although I was glad that it was no longer I (we) that continually had the lumps knocked out of us, I did feel a little sorry for them. So you can easily imagine a rather sorry state of affairs and a tense atmosphere all around.
Privacy had always been an issue in the bag; there are no places for romantic retreat when all places are public. I suppose that to you, what eventually happened was pretty bohemian; yet you must understand that we all have needs. What may surprise you is that I was the one that started the orgy. Well not just me, there were the two of us of course. Yeah our relationship had gotten pretty physical! Well between myself, and Clarice anyway; at least at first.
In addition to the tension there was still that insufferable heat. We ended up as sticky as the weather and for some; well the experience simply hardened us. Many of the others had become romantic, in that hot dark and sticky environment.
In a new found fervour for fermenting new flavours, many a repressed desire became a public expression of individuality. Forbidden desires intermingled in crude sexual experiments that basterdized the lines between sensuality and the outright horrific. As male and female bonded at will, they shared the most carnal of knowledge in each other. So began an orgy of frenzied passion; that wantonly explored every moral and physical act of sexual congress. No idea remained without experiment. New types of sexuality were born and altered in each sordid moment. The bonding had begun. Clarice and I stayed well clear of those more perverted and coped with the stress of it all by partaking only of each other and a little starch powder. Well okay more than just a little, we both formed quite a habit as I recall. Although I haven’t partaken (in either) in ages now; and amidst many mixed regrets, I know which I miss more.
You could see which of those matches would stick as they started to take on each other’s flavours, changing each other forever. Jealousy was rife between the couples although sharing each other’s partners became the norm; these encounters often erupted into sticky orgies that tainted throughout the bag. They writhed and cavorted; intermingling and sharing of each other’s flavours, eventually sticking to each other in a single miasma; a bohemian ball of fruit flavoured fornication. I covered myself in the starch and squeezed into the corner of the bag, watching and waiting for the daylight that never seemed to come. The light that would bring forth the glory and (some said), the fickle finger of fate that would cast us into the unknowable ever after.
That day never seemed to arrive as I watched the others form bonds that would see them well beyond the ever after. As they prepared to be chewed to oblivion, I made plans. Once that bag opened I would be out of there, and not be masticated into mush like those heathens; but to run free and actually live. I would never surrender to the same fate; there was something better beyond that light eternal. Little did I know that I was soon to discover precisely what that life was to entail.
The rumblings were beginning outside of the bag as well as in; and we were all tossed from corner to corner as the apocalypse began. This went on for an age, each of us racked with terror. The bag was forever changing shape and the jellies rolled and clomped around; stuck together into a heavy ball of roiling destruction. I started to get adept at evading its crushing and sticky weight, as I knew that one false move and I would be stuck to it for eternity. I would be as damned as the others, doomed to a slow and painful demise. Once the humans came, that huge ball of my brethren would be bitten and chewed slowly and indiscriminately. Teeth would rend the very limbs, from those that I could now see as my bag- mates. Although I generally despised them, I pitied them none- the- less.
Those tortuous screams will never leave me. Yes, I despised of their contentious bickering and could easily have rejoiced in their demise; but to die in that way was nothing short of reprehensible.
The sides started to come away at that point and light and sound screamed through the top of the bag. The hand of fate approached, ready to make its random selection. The fateful fingers selected a blackcurrant faction member and tore him from the hardening ball of terrified bohemians. I could hear his screams as chunks of his flesh were rendered from the parts that were welded to his sticky partners. A loud and booming voice then, “Those tedious sticky fumblings on the back seat with boys, Clarice”, those words still haunt me as if all of this was somehow predetermined by higher powers.
I grabbed the quivering fingers of Clarice and looked her in those beautifully bleary eyes. I lost myself just then in the terrified face of the woman that I still love and held her image in my mind for every stolen second of life that we had left together. I still recall that ours were not the only screams (us jellies that is) and the fevered dash that I and my sweet made, soon revealed why. The hand returned for another victim and I ran for its back. Clinging to it, I called to Clarice who could only cower in the corner; wide eyed with the wonderment of my desperate plan.