.jpeg)
Chocolate Coins
On December 29th 1979, a woman decided to sauté onions for some delightful french onion soup. She purchased dozens of them and began her preparation. Their delicate layers were violated, pure white figures minced, and their skin seared on the surface of stainless steel. One by one, the onions met their inevitable fate until one remained. As the woman reached out to grab the final onion, it rolled off the table. Confused as to the reason, the woman picked the onion up off the floor and prepared her knife. As her knife met the onion, she hurriedly jerked her hand away after experiencing a sharp, sudden pain. She examined her hand and noticed blood pouring from a bite mark. Muddled, her gaze fixated on the onion only to reveal that it had a mouth. Not only a mouth, but legs, arms, and even eyes appeared. The woman shrieked and began to violently take stabs with her kitchen knife at the onion. In the midst of the panic, the onion made its escape, frantically running into a confined space to avoid the giant entity after its life. After stumbling under a sofa out of sight, the onion rested. What was that creature? Where am I? What am I? The bite was but an inherent reflex it used as a defense mechanism. The onion had awoken from a long, presumed eternal slumber. The first of many that would arise in the future.
Time had gone by since the onion escaped. During this time, it began to understand human society. It learned the language, the names of different species, and the means of surviving as a vulnerable onion. What stood out to him was the treatment of his brethren. Inhumanely having their limbs sliced off their bodies and thrown into a pit of fire. The onion was furious. It wanted revenge. But it couldn’t do it alone. It postulated theories on what resulted in onions to come to life but its efforts were nugatory. Right when the onion was about to give up, it heard something promising on the news. In a house nearby, another man claimed to have seen an onion come to life before she began to cut it. Everyone thought he was insane which, at the time, was reasonable, but the onion saw this as an opportunity. It ventured to the house where the ¨reported onion sighting¨ was and began searching. Following a period of stealthy reconnaissance, it located the onion who was curled up against a rundown fence post in the backyard. While reminiscing in its own agony, it proceeded to comfort the onion, explaining the situation. Because the new onion had yet to learn english, it secreted chemical signals to communicate.
“Greetings.” it signaled.
“Who are you? Where am I?” the new onion questioned.
“You have awoken from a long slumber into a world dominated by creatures after your life. But worry not, for I am your ally.” it reassured. Would you join hands with me in order to protect our kind?”
Still slightly confused, the new onion responded, “If it means I will be safe from those atrocities, count me in.”
After the other onion had calmed down, both of them began to plot. From this encounter one thing was made clear: there were likely other onions like them. They both decided, to survive in this human-dominated world, to rise up against humanity. In order to avoid confusion between the two and future onions, they decided to give each other names. The first onion was now called Oni, who then named the other Ian using the knowledge he acquired from observing humans. The two eventually formed a legion, striving to rise up against the tyrannical humans.
Watching the news, they pinpointed the locations of new onions that had come to life and gathered them together. They set up a base in the sewers, where no human would venture into. Oni invented a machine that would emit chemical signals that would lead new onions to their base of operations as well. This process continued for a few months. With Oni and Ian as the head of the legion, they plotted their vengeance. Eventually, the onion opposition grew to 500,000. Succeeding in gathering enough followers, Oni began to enact his plan. He gathered the most capable onions for a meeting discussing his plans.
“I have gathered you all today to discuss our course of action on dealing with humans. The monstrosities slaughter us, consume us, even burn us alive just to feed their insatiable stomachs. My friends, I have devised a plan. A plan to liberate our kind from these atrocities. While we number a measly 500,000 compared to the humans’ 7 billion, we can claim this part of the world for our kind, creating a utopia. Of course this will only be the first stepping stone in liberating onions across the globe. But the humans are onto us, and we can’t afford to fall here. Now I know that you might be thinking: How can we, us onions, ever defeat the humans? Fortunately, I have found the answer: a bioweapon created from our DNA. From my studies, we onions are able to secrete certain lachrymator compounds that cause the nerves around the eyes of humans, their lacrimal glands, to become irritated. Initially, it would merely result in them tearing up but with my alterations, they can do much more. Not only will they cause intense pain, the burning sensation will be enough to melt their brain stem causing them to die. A fitting end for mankind if I do say so myself.”
The onions’ jaws dropped before transforming into a menacing grin. They immediately began preparations and discretely set up the bombs across the area. When the bombs were finally armed, Oni remotely detonated all of them like there was no time to spare cauisng every human in the area to perish. They had done it. The onions were elated and even began a celebratory feast for their new found nation. A wide variety of dishes were plastered across tables draped in red cloth. They were carefree, dancing to the symphony of their victory.
“We finally did it Oni!” Ian cheered. “We can finally live in peace.”
Oni remained silent, avoiding direct eye contact with Ian.
“Oni? What’s wrong? This is no time to feel gloomy.” Ian questioned in a comforting manner.
“Ian, I lied.” Oni frankly stated. “We won this battle but losing the war is inevitable.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” Ian queried concernedly.
“Human capabilities are beyond even myself. We were able to get away with this attack because it was the first. I assume human forces have already tracked us down and have plans to slaughter us all. I’m truly sorry Ian. I tried my best but in the end I couldn-”
Oni was cut short by a sudden sound resembling a loud shriek. After the first occurrence, many more shrieks followed.
“What was that Oni?” Ian cried out.
“The end, Ian.” Oni sighed.
Missiles came crashing down on their base, bombarding everything the onions had desperately worked to create. One by one, the onions were terminated as technology even beyond what Oni could conjure smited them.
August 13th, 1983. The onions all perished. Uprisings occurred across the world but they all met the same fate. Humans eventually created a GMO version of an onion that was unable to come to life that became widespread to prevent further conflicts. Just as fast as it dawned, the age of onions had set.
Listen to the author
How did all the coins in the world become chocolate? Well, a greedy man is where it starts. Deep in the forest there was a tavern hidden. Among the tall trees and endless shrubbery the tavern served everyone that came through the open doors. The rustic building was run by a young man named Niccolo. As head chef, waiter, and bartender, Niccolo had a lot on his plate.
He created extravagant dishes for each type of animal that would walk into the tavern. On the menu he would have acorn appetizers for squirrels, fresh worms for birds, and refillable nectar glasses for bees. Because of his variety of food choices, many animals were attracted to Niccolo’s tavern. Not only would he serve delicious food, he developed lavish cocktails and martinis for each of the creatures in the forest.
Payment at first was simple, quite like bartering. Niccolo asked the animals to return something they deemed of equal value, for example, a honey bee would return with a cup of honey in return for Niccolo’s delicious meals. He was able to pursue what he has always yearned, open a tavern and serve customers. And for a moment, you forget that he was a greedy man: he kindheartedly served everyone, got his resources locally, and was a pleasant gentleman.
In his home village, Niccolo was destined to be a stone mason. He was awful at carving stones, leading many of the villagers to despise him. The town needed stone to build various buildings, and his father was getting too old to supply the entire village: they demanded that Niccolo step up. However, Niccolo ran away to the forest, where he built his tavern. He was a mundane man. He had fill-in-able features and a prominent nose, which promised him nothing but misery. He would smell the far away spices in dishes at the local bakery. The cinnamon in buns would cause his nose to tickle. The citrus in fresh fruits flared his nostrils. All of them leading him toward wanting to become a cook, the exact opposite of sitting around and cutting stones all day.
These eccentric smells inspired dishes, however they would be locked in his head as he tried for a millionth time to carve a stone. Dark chocolate that was perfectly bitter with hints of tart raspberry, perfectly roasted chicken that had an outer layer of crisp, and smooth creme brulees hidden beneath a crystal sugar helmet were ideas that he would soon add to the menu.
By now, Niccolo had collected enough resources from the animals to run the tavern for ages, so he requested that they instead give him “human money”. The animals kindly agreed, since they recognized he was human and probably needed money.
As his room started to fill with coins, his genuinity became empty. There was a decreasing number of returning customers, which meant less bartering as well. And as you would expect, the quality of his food declined. The once tangy oranges were moldy and sour, the olives in martinis would glow an acidic neon green, and the sweet nectar started to taste sinisterly bacterial. He continued to sweep nature into his debt, demanding only coins as his payment from every animal in the forest. The once happy toads that enjoyed his pie made of flies, were too scared to set foot in his shop again.
He had fallen in love with the golden coins that his customers would bring, so much that he sought out more. Every animal in the forest resented that they needed golden coins in order to eat at Niccolo’s now. Not every animal was able to find spare coins from the nearby village, so eating at Niccolo’s was no longer an option to most animals. Of course, Niccolo was angry that the animals were no longer coming to his tavern, but he was so amused by his “human money” that he had decided to return to the village.
After months of operating the tavern, a trip back to the village might be nice. He blended in once again with the filth and horrific odor of the village. Tangled in the nasty crowd, Niccolo’s white collar glistened like a prize to be won. Money hungry pocket pickers lurked in the crowds, but he wasn’t like them. How could the prestigious Niccolo be greedy? He had provided divine food for mother nature’s children.
When he had returned from his trip to the city, there was an unsettling lack of luster in the tavern. Wine bottle glass seemed so dull you could barely see the once glistening wine. The fresh fruits on the counter had rotted into sunken brown heads. The tavern looked. . . dreadful.
There was something unsettling about the way the golden coins in his pockets didn’t ring when he dispersed them on the table. Originally he pulled them out to adore their beauty, but they had expanded in thickness and size. The coins felt lighter and one even started melting in his hand. Niccolo panicked, what had happened to his money? There was a range of possibilities, however before he could think of any, a sweet brown substance leaked down his hand. The sweet smell tickled his nose and the sharp smell of sugar pierced his septum.
“Is this chocolate?” he asked himself, looking frantically for a wash cloth. The rags in the kitchen sink were gone, along with the soap.
He rushed to rinse his hand off in the lake, but was greeted with a profane sight. There were millions of toads and frogs bathing in the lake. The sun had been high in the sky, reflecting off their glistening earthy skin. He ignored them and rolled up his sleeve to be dipped into the pond. He was met with a strange phenomenon, he was unable to penetrate the lake. It was as if the lake had crystalized into a sheet of solid ice, but unaffecting to the frogs. They continued to bathe and splash in the water.
All his golden coins became chocolate coins. They reminded him that his greed had melted away what was sweet about him, leaving him a penniless man.
He had created a cherry crumble,
And the forest had spit him back out like a cherry pit.
Nostalgia
Listen to the author
Am I nostalgic? Am I nostalgic for the innocent little girl I once was? Am I nostalgic for the raw smiles and light air around me in the videos on my mom's aged iPad? I yearn for warmth, happiness, better times. If I type in “nostalgia” on Google, it reads: “a sentimental longful or wistful affection of the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.”
I agree with nostalgia being longful, but I am not sure if happy is the right word to associate nostalgia with. To me, nostalgia is grieving. I mourn the happy little girl in those old videos. I mourn the lost innocence and the feeling of no stress. I grieve my old self. I grieve the comfort of having time. Everyday I am reassured of having everything and everyone so close to me, but one day they will just be memories. Some already are. And sometimes, I wish I could go back.
I wouldn’t want to go on my awkward first date again or go through another long dance or volleyball practice, but I mourn that part of my life that is over. I ache, because I will never have that again. I have so much sentiment for the years that passed right in front of my eyes and I find myself pitying the present thinking of those times, knowing I can never go back. Knowing I’ll never be the same. I wonder how I can miss someone that I carry within me every single day. How can I keep missing someone I never left? Am I able to grieve and mourn myself? I look at myself in the mirror and think of my current status.
I panic.
How did I get here?
