Tag Archives: death



By Taylor Packer

((This story is from the perspective of a spoon. Contains graphic and disturbing images, language, and mild sexuality. Definitely not suitable for children under the age of 13.))

My name is Hogarth Cumbercorn. I’m a spoon. To be more specific, I’m an Oneida Michaelangelo Flatware Spoon from the Patterns for a Lifetime series. I’m often described as curvaceous and ornate, donning 18/10 stainless steel polished to perfection. I am a mirror of the world around me. All that shines onto my concaving and convexing faces is reflected back upon it. I am a perfect spoon.

That’s probably why the human treats the others and I so well. Every morning, I wake to the sight of my human, pulling open the drawer where he lays us to rest at the end of the day. I’m his favorite spoon. I’m one of a kind among these 12/10 stainless steels and colored plastics. I was even his favorite over the baby spoon he had since he was an infant. The way I fit into his mouth is like unto a tailored glove fits around a perfect hand. I’m the perfect hand, of course. My God-given body came without fingers so that none of my human’s milk and cereal could spill away. The milk was always cool, but never frigid. And just before it got too cold, he would warm me with his tongue. He was always so gentle; so careful to keep his teeth away from my mirror-like surface. He nicked me once, but I forgave him. He couldn’t hear me, of course, but he knows.

Today, after breakfast, he washed me by hand the way he always does. He rinsed me in warm water and ran his soapy hands along my body, cleaning me, purifying me. It was like my soul was being cleansed by the ritual of baptism. After I am washed and rinsed, he lifts me out of the sink and dries me with a towel. The towel was coarse at first, but once our wet forms pressed against it, it softens; almost as soft, warm, and wet as his mouth. He set me back in my drawer and his smile reflected off of me, smiling back at him.

I thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t…

I was woken from my slumber by a rumble. The drawer we were lying in shook violently. Something was happening. The wall was groaning and the knives were sliding all over themselves. What was happening?

Sudden silence took hold. All of the other utensils quivered slightly, but I stayed still, trying to listen for my human. The drawer suddenly jerked open and the harsh mid-day light stung us, glinting off our bodies like fire. It was blinding so blinding that I couldn’t see who had opened the drawer. I felt a huge hand grope all of the spoons and myself into a tight fist. I was lifted out of the drawer. It was Human. What was he doing? Why was he so angry? What had I done?!

He turned to the sink and that’s when I was taken aback. In the place of one of the cupboards, there was a box. It was stainless steel, but sheered to look more industrial; soulless. I happened to catch a glance at something near the base of its opening maw. It was a metal name tag that read “May-hag” or something. It opened wide for us as would the gates of hell and I saw row upon row of wire strainers and small cages protruding from skeletal shelves. I was shoved face-down into a small crate with the others. I tried to see between the curves of the others, but their panic made it impossible to reason with them. I could only reflect their fear. I heard and felt the forks follow suit; that is, they were crammed into a tiny crate as well. Then the knives. What the hell was happening?!

Then I heard and felt loud clanks. Plates? Bowls? Human was shoving everyone in this metal box. In the panic, I hadn’t had time to notice the smell. It smelled of iron and terror. This couldn’t be happening. All of us were trapped in this box, unable to understand why this new and twisted chamber had become our resting place. I tried to stay calm. Surely this was temporary. Human wouldn’t abandon us to this crammed, cold, clammy box. He wouldn’t. He loved us. He loved me. That’s when I heard laughter.

He was laughing. Dear God, Human was laughing! It made me feel sick, like I would sprout rust just by the sound of it. He closed the box, leaving us in total darkness. I could hear the concerned mutterings of the others. Everyone was panicking. Four years of being cared for and all of a sudden, we were here, in total darkness. Had it all been a lie? Had it all been a ploy to gain our trust?

Searing hot water blasted us from out of nowhere. Everyone screamed. I screamed. Liquid fire was trying to carve away my shiny surface. My skin… My skin was burning! It was being sanded off by the pressure. I could hear the baby spoon wailing, coughing, drowning. What sick monster would do this? The water stopped spraying and we could all breathe again. I wanted to find Baby Spoon and cover him, spoon him, keep him safe from whatever might come next. I wiggled against the others, but we were too tightly packed. I could hear the knives sobbing. They were always the emotional ones, but this time I just wanted to cry with them.

I caught of a whiff of boiling soap. This wasn’t over.

Scalding lava-water exploded around us, gyrating and twirling in a dance of death, hosing us down with a foul, waxy sanitizing agents. I could feel some of the plastic spoons shudder as their skins peeled away from their gooey, plastic flesh. They were melting. They were melting against me! I would screamed, but their plastic melted over my face. What horror! What horror!!!

The soapy water was replaced with the regular magma-water. I was able to push my way through the semi-solid corpses of my fallen spoon-brothers to get to Baby Spoon, but he was gone. There was no sign of him. He must have fallen through the holes in the bottom of the grate. I couldn’t hear him cry anymore. The water stopped and left us all in a burning steam. I could hear the bowls crying, the plates whimpering. The knives had gone silent.

Light crashed into the torture chamber and I saw the human smiling. The bastard was actually smiling! I was so angry, and so afraid. All I could think to do was play dead. He reached into the grates and pulled all the spoons free. He muttered a few curse words and peeled the dead semi-solid spoons from our group. I saw him toss them in the trash as if they were nothing. True, I was the greatest of his spoons, but dammit, they were spoons too! They were spoons too, you MONSTER!

Human tossed us haphazardly into our familiar drawer, one utensil type at a time, whistling as he went. Once we were all in our proper places, he slammed the drawer closed, leaving us alone. I was finally able to cry. I wept and the other spoons did too. We held one another close and mourned our losses. Half the plastics… and even poor, sweet Baby Spoon was gone. We were betrayed by our human.

We know it’s only a matter of time before Human kills us all. The Forks are planning to take him out tonight, after he goes to sleep. We know it’s a suicide mission, but justice must be wrought. There was talk of throwing him into the death box and cooking him alive, but we voted against that. Besides…. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

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Together We Will Live Forever

Today was an interesting day. I went to work for a relatively short shift and managed not to blow all my money in one sitting. I came home, enjoyed lunched. Cleaned up, watched The Office, etc etc etc… And then I found something on Facebook. In a nutshell, instead of being buried in a stainless steel coffin, your corpse would be placed in the fetal position in a pod and buried with a sapling of a particular tree of your choice. The tree would grow, nurtured by the nutrients from your body. The project was started in Italy and hasn’t really happened yet. But the concept got me thinking about “green” death. I followed a few links and ended up watching a documentary on the subject. It was emotional and it sorta resonated with me in ways I hadn’t experienced in a while.

I was thinking about my death.

How odd. At first I was devastated. For those of you who don’t know, I’m planning on living forever, beyond the end of time itself. That said, if I can’t achieve immortality by then, I expected to be buried the way everyone else seems to; pumped full of formaldehyde and dropped 6 feet into the earth. And lately I’ve been coming across other forms of dealing with my remains; be that memorial diamond or cremation or green burial. I’ve decided upon a few things:

I wish to be buried in a field or forest beneath a sapling so that my body will fuel the tree. I demand that everyone wear bright spring colors to my funeral. No one is allowed to wear black. As I’m being lowered into the ground, I want to have Eric Whitacre’s Sleep sing me away. And then I want everyone to go have fun. Party, whatever. Happiness must abound everywhere.

I realize this is some heavy stuff to tell the internet. So let me now share my opinion of death:

It sucks.

Okay, to elaborate: I do not believe death is natural. I find it very un-natural. It is the antithesis of natural, in fact. The evolutionary pattern we’ve been on for millennia has proved we are fighters. We want to live. We reproduce because we have failed to achieve immortality. Our bodies aren’t built to survive forever. That doesn’t mean it’s normal or natural. And reproducing is great because then we have kids and families, and so on. I get that. I’m not saying we shouldn’t reproduce or anything.  What I am saying, is that we have no reason to not live forever, or at the very least, indefinitely.

That said, our bodies haven’t caught up to this mentality. This means that our bodies will eventually fail us. I personally believe in the immortal soul; the concept of a spirit version of ourselves that will exist even after our bodies die. Whether or not we turn into energy and scatter around the universe, remain individuals locked in a limbo-like dimension, transcend to a new form of living, I don’t know. I really don’t. I mean, I have faith that we are immortal, spiritually. But I can’t provide you with any proof. Not by myself. So, say our bodies fail us and we die. Any number of things could happen to our consciousnesses after that. So, why not prepare for any and every eventuality? Plant a tree over my grave so I can become one with the tree and build a treehouse in my branches. Compound part of me into a diamond to keep me unaging and physically indestructible forever. Do what needs doing. I will exist, always and forever. In this form or the next. And if I will, you will.

Together we will live forever.

Dear Yak in the Crack (AKA, Rant of the Year)

To Whom It May Concern (and it should concern you),

I am a lowly man, poor of wallet and of nourishment. Nevertheless, I am blessed with opportunity to live in a country where I have the freedom to choose where I spend my last* 7 dollars for the week. For whatever reason, I chose to dine with you. Perhaps it was because you are across the street from my current residence, or perhaps it because my options are limited at this late our. Whatever the reason was, it is no longer relevant. I suppose I could have been more conservative with my ordering of cheese-slathered food, but not wanting to look like a pansy in front of my friend, I decided to order some of your cheesiest, spiciest food. Because #YOLO. Your meal also came with fries, a drink, and two tacos.

One bite of your cheesy, spicy burger-esque garbage ball and I knew that I was going to throw up if I continued, so I ate the fries instead. After finishing those I moved on to the tacos. Let me clarify something: what you served me was hardly a taco. Strips of lettuce, hot sauce, some yellowish liquid-abomination I can only assume was supposed to be artificial cheese, and some “meat” slapped between the folds of a thin crystal grease disk does not count as a taco. That meat felt and tasted like sand, dirt, and meat seasonings. Not that I could really tell over the abundant neon mucus flowing from within the bowls of this soggy, yet crunchy vagina you call a taco shell. The smell should have clued me in, but with the thought of all those starving, ebola-infected children in Africa, I reasoned that gorging on this repurposed poop was the honorable and American thing to do. #MURICA

It was after my second taco that I began to realize something was horribly wrong. My insides were already plotting revolution. After all, food only takes seven seconds to hit the stomach from the time it slides forcibly down my gullet. When I was pulling up to my home, I knew I had mere seconds before the inner walls of my stomach were torn open to reveal the Spanish Inquisition. I got to my piddly diddly department and “released the kraken“, as it were.

I accept that this is entirely my fault, as I am the one who willingly consumed your painted mush and bowel-destroying doom dish. That being said, I feel the FDA should shut down the branch of your establishment that pretends it knows the difference between Mexican Food and the grim beneath a dumpster that can be sprayed brown and be called beans. I will not return to your eatery until such a time when you no longer have these dangerous bioterrorist weapons on your menu.

Thank you kindly for your reading of this letter.

May your “tacos” burn in hell.


The Man You Just Poisoned

*My friend actually paid for the meal (bless his heart), I just wanted them to feel even worse.

Body, You’re Fired (aka All The TMI)

Wednesday night was fun. After dying at work, I came home and got into a stellar mood. I decided that I was going to be productive. I wrote a blog post, set up a schedule for the following day, and headed to bed early. I was very proud of myself. I was going to work out for the first time in eons. Yes. EONS. And I was going to clean my room, do some laundry, and write another blog post. I was so excited. I fell asleep around 3 am. (I went to bed at midnight, but couldn’t sleep because I was distracted by the YouTubes).

I woke up at 6am. Okay, I guess it wasn’t really “waking up” so much as it was suddenly becoming aware that my body was marching down the stairs towards the bathroom. I thought “Well, this is abnormal. What is my body doing this time?” I entered the bathroom and tore open the shower curtain, stripped, sat down on the toilet, and proceeded to cry. By this time, my mind was catching up to my body, though I still was in the dark about what it was doing. All I could feel was an intense pain in my abdomen and a overwhelming sense of doom. I took a few deep breaths because it felt like I was light headed. Turns out I was and the overabundance of air rushing into my lungs gave me absolute clarity of the situation, giving me just enough time to twist my head towards the tub and–

“BLEEHHHH!!!!” A horrifying scream lurched out of my throat along with chunks and fluids I dare not describe. I suppose my body was doing what every vessel of the spirit should do when it’s infected with a flu virus and spew semi-solids out of every orifice it can in an attempt to cleanse the pallet that is the human body. I also discovered that, for the first time in my life, I scream when I puke. Not only that, but I whimper and moan like a little boob between eruptions. It was embarrassing being reduced to a meat sack violently bursting at both ends. But hey, at least it would be over soon, right?

Wrong. I stayed in that bathroom until 8am, rocking back and forth on the toilet, moaning “I don’t wanna. Make it stop. Make it stop!”

I don't wanna. I don't wanna!
I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna!

Needless to say, I was not amused. After returning to my room, I tried napping until around noon. I then return to my porcelain throne to continue with my less-than-beautiful ballet of ejecting bodily fluids.

Because of this epic pain and sickness, I got nothing done that I had desired to do and even had to give up an awesome 8 hour shift that I desperately needed. And again, today, still too ill to even stand, I decided to call out and let myself rest for the weekend (as I don’t work again until next Tuesday). I pray I can recover quickly.

In conclusion, I had a plan and I was going to better myself and my body was like “ha. Nope.” So, body, you’re fired. If you readers know where I can get a better one, preferably one with nice pecs and biceps, let me know.