Space Fiction

Five a day

‘They never knock.’

‘They are the masters after all.’

‘It doesn’t excuse the lack of manners,’ said Carrot. ‘Opening and closing the fridge any time they feel like it. I hate this hot draft.’

She went on and on about the damage to her skin, but Parsnip didn’t listen. There was a new vegetable on a shelf.

‘Good morning everybody, I’m Celery. How are you?’

The vegetables were getting acquainted, when Onion pushed through them. She was on a mission.

‘Do you believe in life after fridge?’ Every time a new one appeared, she tried to recruit them for the Church of Farmer the Saviour.

‘Leave him alone,’ said a Broccoli. ‘When you’re gone, you’re gone. Into the nothingness.’

‘Not much of a waste in your case.’ Carrot was getting bitter.

‘The Farmer loves you,’ Onion didn’t give up.

‘He does?’ Celery was getting confused.

‘That’s all politics’ said Carrot. ‘We were fine until the fridge masters adopted the ‘five a day’ policy.’

Wrinkled parsnip was here the longest. ‘They’re taking somebody out everyday.’

‘Has anyone ever returned?’ Celery was very green.

‘Yes…’ Parsnip took a deep breath. ‘But never in one piece.’

‘Oh, dear farmer. It’s horrible. Is there anything we could do?’

‘Finally somebody with a spirit,’ Carrot stood up. ‘We must fight back. Organise a resistance.’

‘What can we do?’ asked Broccoli. ‘Smell badly?’

‘That’s a brilliant idea.’ A self-proclaimed leader of a veggie rebellion, Carrot, assigned tasks. They took a couple of layers from onion, broccoli was doing push up and chin ups until the sweat was dripping from his foil wrap. Parsnip was old enough already. All was going according to plan. Saturday night was quiet around the house, so the vegetables had time to prepare for battle. On Sunday morning Onion held a mass. As she praised the Great Farmer the door opened; without knocking of course. A big head of the fridge master got in.

‘It stinks here,’ he shouted.

‘It’s your breath,’ came from the distance. ‘Just get some eggs and bacon before the hangover kills me.’

‘OK, remember my mum’s coming for dinner?’

The fridge door closed and the vegetables would hear muffled screams, but were too busy celebrating their victory. Carrot attributed it to her military skills and brilliant strategy. Onion was convinced that divine intervention saved them all. Broccoli knew that it was his sweat that repealed the monster. Celery didn’t brag but quietly believed that his freshness and idealism turned their faith. Only Parsnip didn’t participate in the party. He could feel in his wrinkled body that the war was not over.

By the end of the afternoon the vegetables found out that there is a life after the fridge. They all reincarnated as Irish – in a stew.

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