I'm Hearing Voices: The Final Test

This has been the most fun blogfest I have been apart of and I want to thank Cassie and Angela for dreaming up such an amazing event. Alas, with all great things there must be an end, because even time doesn't last forever.

For our final "Hoorah" we have to make you truly feel the power of raw emotion in a Flash Fiction Piece.

February 10th - Friday - Emotion Flash Fiction: Emotion is the engine of a story. Pick an emotion and in a flash fiction piece of 250 words MAKE us feel it! We want to connect with your character. This will be a challenge in 250 words.

The emotion I want to illustrate is Purpose. I know a lot of people will write about love or hate -- greed and jealousy -- but I wanted to try something different, plus I have a very special character I want to introduce to you all. I'm not going to give backstory, instead, I'll let this special someone tell the tale.

The Last Story

Black cola bottles told no lies but they had many stories. One such storyteller sat in a box with its brothers and sisters, carried in the hands of a factory worker -- who threw it to another and paused as he looked at the packed compartment of the truck.

So on the dashboard our storyteller rode, absorbing the scene through a slit in the box. The view beyond the windshield was bright and sunny. Square, metal trees, both big and small, cluttered every inch of space. Mounted on these were signs of all shapes, sizes and colors -- flashing, almost inviting weary eyes to gawk at their splendor.

Quite astonishing, to say the least, but some of the metal trees didn't have signs. Oh no! In fact, a few of them looked as though they were sliced in two. Layer upon layer of shelves stood beside the torn half, while tiny men in yellow hats tocked away.

As if heaven sent, a torn newspaper clipping slapped itself on the winshield.
"United States Government to spend five billion renovating buildings damaged by tornadoes twelve years ago."

Black Cola Bottle tried to read more, but it heard the driver flip a switch and watched as two sticks wiped the paper off. The nerve of him! If it had lips it would complain, sadly the driver had beaten it to the punch: mumbling about the traffic of San Francisco and reaching the airport on time.

And so it was, many hours later, Black Cola Bottle woke up from its nap and saw it was being toted yet again. Humongous red or black boxes were everywhere -- carried around on the backs of trucks, or hoisted up by silver vines. Toots like trumpets, loud bellowing hollers and cranking iron offered little peace, but it didn't take long for our storyteller to understand why. High up on an arched sign were bright blue words: Staten Island Welcomes You To The Port of Richmond.

No wonder it was so noisy.

Now, fast forward two...twelve...ninety days later and Black Cola Bottle longed for any kind of noise. Sitting on a dusty shelf, waiting for some special person to drink it, was the worst experience there was. It had seen so many things -- hold ups, make outs, stakeouts and breakouts -- but its expiration was near an end. Until one day, a little boy and his mother bought it and took it away. As the child drank from its loins, Black Cola Bottle marveled at the island for the first time. It, too, had many steel trees, but unlike the other place only one or two were under repair. Before it had the pleasure of intaking another sight, the little boy stopped drinking and stood quite still.

"Mommy, what's that girl doing?"

Black Cola Bottle wondered the same: why was that scrawny girl drinking water from the drain?

"She's thirsty, dear," the mom said, "why not give her the rest of your drink?"

And so, the little boy skipped to the girl and held out Black Cola Bottle. Her tired eyes looked up from the drain, green water dripping from her lips, and took the drink.

"Thanks," she said.

"Come on sweetie, let's go." And they left without looking back.

Black Cola Bottle became aware it had found that special someone, and now it was time...
It told no lies and held many stories -- saw many things. And as the dirty girl drank the final drop from its body and threw it into the garbage, Black Cola Bottle lay there with a peace it willingly accepted: the last place...the last person...the last story it ever saw.    

I hope you liked it. The story swooped into my head this morning and I immediately fell in love with this little bottle.

Thank you to all those who stopped by to comment and say hi. I made a lot of friends and, for that, I am truly grateful.

Have a wonderful day!