I have lived in this house for a very long time. Most of the time, I sit in a drawer,
or on a shelf, stuffed away somewhere out of sight. But every month or so, the Big Pale Giants pull me out of my slumber to torment me; they shove me onto the top of this fluffy creature and torture the poor thing! The Fluff is angry, crying and screaming for help, while the Pale Giants cut off The Fluff’s fingers—and they use me as a tool in their torture. They make me assist in their crime, stifling The Fluff’s ability to save itself.
My mother was a fishbowl, you know. Growing up, I dreamed of one day housing a little Golden Swimmer, holding water with a nice view out of a window. I was going to coexist with a Golden Swimmer, live a life with mutual support, have a constant purpose, see light more than a few minutes a month… but instead, my horrible father, a deep-sea diver helmet, ruined everything for me. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. Wanted me to sit atop some creature performing some “great task.” But I was never going to be able to do that, not with the genes my mother gave me! I could’ve at least held a moss ball or something! But no, he forced my hand, forced me to fail at being a great helmet. I could’ve been a great fishbowl, supported a life form—but no. Instead, I’m an awful, terrible helmet. Instead, I live in the dark, alone, except for the silence that surrounds me.
Miraculously, somehow, The Fluff doesn’t seem permanently injured by The Pale
Giants’ torture. Every month, The Fluff has regrown its fingers, and every month, The
Pale Giants cut them off again. And every month, I am complicit in this dreadful crime. My monthlong nights are filled with dread, and my brief days are filled with anguish. But what can I do? I am only little Elmer; too small to fill my father’s large footsteps, my mother’s favorite and only child. And I’m an orphan, lonly in this god-forsaken world but for my thoughts, my night terrors, and my torturous days.
I suppose I could have it worse. I could have been forgotten about in some landfill somewhere, sitting alone in a field of other forgotten friends. At least then, though, I’d get to see some sunlight. At least then, I wouldn’t be so alone…