The Package
Uncle Ed swooped through town like a falcon chasing a rabbit, and he bombed a pile of goodies in the back yard. I wasn't the first one home, so everything was already strewn around the house by the time I came home. Littered around the house was a bonanza of material goods. Old trophies I had once earned, memories from high school, a sack full of presents and some studio props would soon have to find new homes in the house; a difficult task when you consider I can't put anything in my basement at the moment. Half way through putting things where they belong we came to the 'care package'.
It was a gastronomic adventure in which I would soon be enjoying
"Ooooh, Poppycock"
"Spare Ribs, we are having some of these tonight!"
"How about we try an Apple Turnover?"
Then I could see the little yellow arm waving at me from the box. The chill of expectation ran up my spine, my body gripping me to ensure my eyes had not missed the introduction of a new found danger. Winking at me knowingly from the edge of the box sat the reason I can no longer walk down the bulk food isle without a handler: Pistachios.
I must have entered some sort of trance at this point, because the next thing I can recall is shifting through drawers looking for any sharp instrument I could use and ensure no damage to the cargo. I had a bowl in my hand, which did not help me in my dream like scramble to get into my body what it so badly wanted. I could remember thinking that it would have been quicker to just put the bowl down, but the primal side would not allow me to put it down. Its snarling logic was informing me that we can eat a lot faster of out a bowl than through any hole cut in the bag. I managed to bring the two sides together and logic started to seep in. Soon, the vision of the yellow bag in the box faded enough to allow me focus on the scissors. Which I grasped in my free hand and spun towards my plastic victim.
At this point I was poetry in motion. My mind was operating on some higher level, bypassing any decisions or feedback the front half might make. The crinkle of the bag, and the sharp schisk of the scissors brought my ears into the game and soon they could hear the satisfying crack of the husk. My tongue emerged to greet the messenger, ready to accept the surrender of everyone in the yellow bag.
