Endless Inspiration 11
Write about the inexplicable menace in a seemingly neutral object.
To anyone else it looks like every other can of soda. It gleams in the light and is perfectly cylindrical. There is a tab on the top which, when pressure is applied correctly, frees a satisfying sigh from the contents within.
But for Beth it’s different. She has declared war on all processed, caffeinated, and sugar-infused beverages, or any combination thereof. She believes that these beverages, of which the can currently gleaming on the table is a jealous green color, are the bane of her existence.
These beverages, which most people consider no threat, are the main reason why her repeated attempts to lose weight have ended in failure.
A can of soda to anyone else; the Enemy to Beth. She sits in a chair at the kitchen table. She is locked in a staring contest with the Enemy.
The Enemy’s color is green, and their emblem, the words “Mountain Dew” printed at a cocky angle, taunt her. It is unbearable. Beth’s resistance for the past few months of failed dieting has had no color or emblem. But now that the Enemy has a name to match hers (Enemy vs. Beth), it seems only fitting that she have a color and an emblem to match theirs.
She leaves the table and puts on her her yoga clothes. They are all black (because black is a slimming color) and that becomes her color. For her emblem, since she is at war and she has recently watched that Ninja Assassin film, she chooses the Ninja. She vows by whatever means, particularly stealth and cunning, to defeat the Enemy.
Beth opens a window and throws the Enemy into the alley.
The Enemy slams into the brick wall, unprotected, and explodes. Yellow liquid sprays out at odd angles, hissing. Then, comatose, the Enemy falls and crunches onto the pavement where it bleeds out and dies.
Still not satisfied, Beth charges the fridge. She drags out the half-empty twelve pack of soda and chucks it out the window to proceed the way of its dying comrade. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she returns to the pantry and takes out the remaining three twelve packs of soda, six Caprisuns, the Smirnoff coolers, the margarita mix, the gallon of fruit punch, and the powdered ice tea and defenestrates the lot of them with unmitigated zeal.
Now Beth stands next to the open window. She breathes heavily, but the urge to open a can of soda has passed, and even if she did still want one there were none left in the house. She goes into her bedroom, unrolls her yoga mat, and spends an hour concentrating on her breathing and wishing for a flat stomach.
That night, after Beth has cooked a healthy dinner with whole grains and vegetables and successfully avoided going to the grocery store to buy more delicious drinks, Beth’s landlord calls her to complain about the sticky heap of decapitated beverages and beverage boxes in the alley. She admits to throwing them out the window, feeling no shame, and promises to clean them up in the morning.
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