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Short Story: Goo
One day, I woke up and there was goo. Goo all around. Floor, ceiling. Door, unappealing. Bed, stove, table. It was green, viscous, fable.
After staring at it for a while, I realized it might have been there all the time. It went well with the decoration. It gave life to the white boring walls. I tried to step out of my bed. My foot sank into the goo. It covered half of my leg. The only thing I could notice was its warmth. I wasn’t expecting that. When I think about goo, I think about a cold liquid. It was warm like it just left a nose.
I kept going through the goo to the kitchen. My parents sat there. I tried to say something but I saw they wouldn’t listen because, looking closer, there was goo coming out of their ears. It got out of the earhole and dripped, slowly, drop after drop, on the ground. They didn’t move, nor eat, even though their toast was on their plate.
I sat on the table as well, waiting. The chair was covered in goo and it warmed my butt. I looked around and there was not a sound in the kitchen, but, outside, the construction workers were loud enough to wake up a giant. It was white-noise to me, I had to deal with that every day since we moved over a decade ago. The workers came and went but the noise was the same as always. Screaming loud.
I sat and waited for my toast. Usually, my parents make me toast for breakfast. I don’t think they would do it now, given the goo situation. I didn’t know how to do my own toast. They said it was dangerous to go near the toaster. They said they would do it for me. Always.
The goo was weirdly increasing. The chair was already almost entirely covered and the goo was reaching my hips. I tried to say something to my parents. They blinked in my direction and smiled at me. That was it. Goo was coming out of my mom’s eyes and my dad’s nose.
“Mom, shouldn’t we worry about all the goo? Dad, we should do something.” I said.
There was no panic.
It was rising and it covered my neck now. My mom and dad frowned slightly. My mom looked at the toast, she couldn’t see it anymore. It was all covered entirely, like a pool. I saw her shrugging.
Nothing left to be done.
There was not a sound, only the construction workers outside, and the goo covered all around.
Ayyy, friends, this is a weird story about how I’m feeling. It has meaning if you look close enough. The inaction. The lack of hope. But, mostly, it’s only about goo. It’s also my post number 50th, so leave a comment below telling me if you’ve learned anything from this website. I love you, Isadora.
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