My interior is filthy and it’s getting dark
Captain’s Log. Day 1: It’s been approximately three days since I’ve left Stacey’s side and seen the mustard linings of her Fjallraven Kanken. Who would have thought that her 4 p.m. lecture would be our last time together?
I remember when I first came into her life. “Away with plastic water bottles!” she proclaimed as she pulled out a metal straw from her Amazon box. I never felt so special before, just sitting there, listening about her dreams of saving the turtles.
Our time together wasn’t always pretty. I’ll never forget the day her roommate commented on how pretentious my shade “lilac” was. Or how her boyfriend made some sick joke about my nickname, “Wide Mouth.” I didn’t even mind the tacky stickers she put on me. I embraced every part of her chaotic life.
And now I stand underneath an empty seat in Wellman. There’s gum underneath the chair that gently grazes my cap. It’s dark now and I’ve never felt more alone.
Day 2: This morning I awoke to an unfamiliar place. Although I hoped I had been found and placed on Stacy’s nightstand, I was instead shoved into a side pocket that’s much too small for my 32 oz hips. I knew this wasn’t Stacey because she would never buy a Jansport backpack. Trapped in this netted cage, I can now see why.
Day 3: I now find myself in a bedroom I have never seen before. I’ve been staring at a “Live, Laugh, Love” sign on the wall all day. Truthfully, I’m not sure how much more of this I can bear.
Day 4: Today I experienced the most surreal thing. Instead of the usual coffee table that I’ve been banished to, I was stationed in a row of several other Hydro Flasks. I asked the olive flask to my right what was going on. He told me that every few days, one of them gets taken away. He also told me to prepare to have my photo taken and be uploaded on some Facebook group. I must admit I’m afraid.
Day 5: Today is my last day in this prison. I will be taken to a new home tomorrow in exchange for some coins. I no longer feel the need to document these horrific experiences so I bid you all adieu. I hope this finds you in good hands and you remember to check for your loved one before you quickly leave a Davis lecture hall. And to Stacey, my first owner, if you’re still out there: He! Doesn’t! Love! You!
Written by: Julietta Bisharyan — firstname.lastname@example.org
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)