Chopping

The truth be known, I haven't been in my kitchen in weeks. There is a sinister power at work there and I fear that it may be too much for me to bear. A little bourbon in your tea? You're welcome.

Where was I? It all started about four weeks ago when I came home from the grocery store and started to put away the groceries. The freezer things went in first, then the refrigerated things, and finally the shelf things. At the store, I had decided that I would have some toast and jam, but for some reason I had forgotten the jam. So instead I got out my big pot and some vegetables and proceeded to make some vegetable soup. (I prefer not to buy it in cans because there are so many additives, preservatives, metal chunks, bones, and rocks in the soups on the store shelves.) That was when I heard the chanting. It wasn't a radio playing rap music in some passing car, nor was it some half-asleep neighbor somnescently reminding himself of his worldly troubles at an antisocial volume. I cannot put my finger on it. And it was coming from under the floor. This isn't troublesome to those of you who don't know that my building has no basement and I live on the first floor. If you still don't know, don't let it trouble you. I rinsed the onion to get the last layer of dirt and industrial-farm grime off of it and reached for my favorite vegetable-cutting knife. Why, yes- this is it. It is a good knife - I've had it for a long time.

Well - to get back to the story, it just didn't feel the same. As the knife bit into the outer layer of the onion, I felt a queer sensation tingle through my fingers. I listened for the chanting, but it wasn't coming from the floor or passing cars or somnescent neighbors or anything else for that matter. I gripped the knife harder and began to cut apart the onion, working from left to right. Row upon row of onion slices slid to the cutting board. The familiar acrid smell of onion hit my nose and I did my best to keep my eyes from watering but they ran with tear after tear. I choked back a sob and wiped my hand across my runny nose. Tears of sadness, tears of joy, tears of loneliness ran down my cheeks. And when the last of the onion was on the other side of my knife, the tears stopped. I had cried while chopping onions before, but never with so much emotion. I should have stopped then - how could I have been so foolish. After putting the onion bits into the pot, I reached for a stalk of celery and split it and this seemed funny to me. As I cut it into wedges, I tittered, then laughed, then guffawed. My voice nearly broke as I cut the celery to bits, finding certain amusement with every chop. Unable to control myself, I grabbed a potato and as I skinned it I spun to check if someone was watching my back. I spent nearly half an hour finding safer and more secure places to cut up the potato, eventually closing all the windows and doors to make sure nobody was watching. As I slipped the potato chunks into the pot, I spied the carrots. Testing a carrot with the edge of the knife, I remembered the time when I was seven and a carrot had beaten me up and taken my lunch money. When I was twelve, a carrot had taken my skateboard. At the junior prom, a group of carrots had dragged me from the dance floor and forced my head into a full toilet. With every memory, I shouted and hacked at the carrot. I thrusted, I tore, I swung the knife in hideous arcs. As I reached for another carrot, I heard the first one say something about my mother and I proceeded to stab at it in the pot. Waves of anger, sadness, and fear of retaliation ran through me. Will this soup ever end? As I took my first swing at a tomato, I realized that there was something wrong with this soup. I stopped for a moment to think. Is it the soup? Or is it the knife? Onions make me cry, potatoes make me paranoid, carrots make me mad, and tomatoes make me... rational? I tested the blade of the knife on the remaining vegetables just to be sure, always returning to the safety to a tomato to make sure I didn't build up any destructive feelings. This is what I discovered: Mushrooms - arousal Turnips - singing Cabbage - dancing Yellow squash - vertigo Peapods - choking And armed with this knowledge (and enough tomatoes to recover my senses) I finished the base of the soup. I washed the knife and everything suddenly cleared before my eyes. The spell was over. I put the knife on the rack and reached for the spices. I poured in generous amounts of pepper, oregano and salt into the soup. As I turned over the garlic flakes bottle, nothing came out. Well, at least I had bought some fresh garlic... As I picked up the knife again and chopped up the garlic, I heard the chanting again. But this time I could understand it. And it was coming from the garlic. Kill... Kill... Kill... And as the soup boiled, the anger of the carrots seeped into the sadness of the onions. I could not stand any more of this feeling. Who was to blame? The potato and the squash showed me where to look - it was the fault of my neighbors. The thoroughness of the tomatoes combined with the evil of the garlic and it all came together - my neighbors did this to me. And I must kill them all! Aren't you going to finish your tea?

[satan]

It started out like EA Poe but then . . . mmmm . . . Bundy on an Ibuprofen overdose? . . .

i will have some more . . . hell, i'll take some tea in that bourbon please, with a spot of tomato juice . . .

. . . just be glad you didn't get any can of vegetable juice . . . that could've been a bit confusing!

[JamesBond_007]

Ha ha ha ha! Great story!


007