Struggles of a Spoon

May 31, 2010
By TygerShore SILVER, Coquitlam, BC, Other
TygerShore SILVER, Coquitlam, BC, Other
5 articles 10 photos 12 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It's not what you say, it's what you do."

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." ~Anaïs Nin

If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it." ~To"

I shuddered as I pressed up against the others. We huddled in our new-found darkness, cold but the air stifling our breaths. I looked up but saw no sky. Instead, bars blocked my vision and acted as the floor for another layer. Too many of us were crowded in the metal box, pressed together like pigs being pushed into the slaughter house. The stench of sour milk strangled me and I worked hard not to dwell on it.

A thunderclap started our torture. I did not know what we had done to deserve such a cruel fate but no questions were allowed. I didn’t ask any. Screams of terror filled our confined space as water flooded down onto us. I found myself too getting choked up in it, the wailing pounding through me and filling me until I was one of the group, we became one voice, one scream. Our cries were stifled by the relentless wave.

I struggled as jets of water surged towards me but was held tight by my bonds. It scraped along my face and tried it’s best to wrench me from the others, all-the-while cooing at me with its forceful rush of noise. The cries of the others started dying down and I could sense them giving up. The rush of water caressed them and the humming broke through their minds, willing them into silence.

I felt a calming effect as the water started leaving us. It drained away almost as quickly as it had come and left us shivering together. We relaxed as the torture was over. A wave of warmth coiled around us and purged us of the water. Before long however, the heat became suffocating in our small space and tried to drown us much like the water. I could feel my face growing unbearably hot. It started to sting and I could hear others voicing the same complaint.

We gasped as the door to our chamber was opened and the heat sucked from us. The look of fear from the others around me told me one thing. I stayed silent as I was torn from my bonds and lifted high into the air. The others were quiet as they watched me leave. The door was forced shut and they were once again cast into darkness.

I didn’t struggle as I was forced into the pile of Cheerios. After all, what was I to do? Yelling would not save me nor would anything else. I cannot disobey my masters, for I am a nothing but a spoon.

The author's comments:
I hope that by reading this piece of fiction, one might think a moment before placing a spoon in a dishwasher -- many teens around the world have no choice in what happens to them and are forcefully put into a "dishwasher" of their own.

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