This is a collaborative exercise in letting go and having fun. Each chapter I intend to be an individually standing short story that is simply obscure. Let the imagination run completely wild!
Deep in the darkened recesses of a transparent box of boredom there sits the lower denizens of Fridge. Where proud vegetables once stood erect with fresh youth, there stoops the withered tips of the green bean, the not-quite-so-orange-as-last-week carrot and the half complete cucumber, adorned with moldy top. In the long forgotten days of the blissful isle 6, these forgotten creatures were bought with the promise of daily visitation, only to be disappointed with a life of abandonment. Their brothers-in-arms had been vital members of many a proud and rare quest to the meal time saucepan; that time has past, the deathly folds of the backdoor bin is what awaits the saddened remnants.
In blissful times of heavenly light, as the frontier kingdom of Doorway swings wayward, the vegetable box is treated with a glimpse of the lower shelf milk, wine and miscellaneous fruit juice of the week. Despite being of the same realm, these Doorway items are valued considerably. Numerous visits towards the squealing kettle and esteemed cupboard of glass do these liquids make, but with consequence. When a vegetable has passed its opportunity for glory, it retires politely and reasonably unoffensively, yet the devilish milk and crafty concealed juice of fruits become cruel with age and despised above all. It is for this reason that they are treated with suspicion and thus cast to the lower realm.
Upon the middle realm there sits the frequent fliers. Cheeses greet tubs of butter, ham sits away from bacon - the rivalry of cooked and uncooked meats are legendary. The occasional bowl of yesterday pasta or rice makes a rare but enjoyable visit, hopeful of next day deliverance to the outer world. In the frontier there sit the numerous sauces; mayonnaise and salad cream accompanied by jam, mint sauce and ketch ... 'Get out, you don't belong here KETCHUP!'.
The upper reaches are home to the rulers of Fridge, although their reign is short and sporadic. Pompous bottles of beer flee from the upper shelf nightly and in numerous handfuls. A salsa pot betrothed to crispy joys of tortillas, intended for multiple days habitation, will inevitably leave and not return. A bar of chocolate enters with its top row amiss and is taken after barely an hour of lording. Across from this shelf there sits eggs - no one is quite sure what the egg community did to be awarded such prominence but their grooved thrones have lain in wait since the time of creation. This is a clerical error and someone should write to Bosch promptly before the cheese revolts!
Such is the world Fridge.