Like two out of place strangers colliding in the galaxy: a canned tuna fish drinking on the balcony, getting existential with a prize fighting marshmallow.
“It’s always the fire, it’s ALWAYS the fire” Marshmallow says, when asked about his death dream.
“Me, I like to mix it up, Tuna says. Sometimes I take my helmet off to feel the breeze, not realizing I’m out in space. Other times, it’s just the slow sink to the bottom, no reason, no backstory. But mostly, it’s silence. You are frozen in those moments. Finally, the moments you have always tried to freeze but have always resisted, it all makes sense , but no one is there to tell it to. Cigar?” Tuna asks.
“No man! Are you kidding me? I told you my fears, but you would rather piss on my head off the balcony, then respect my death dream?”
“Sorry, just seemed like a cigar kind of night, and I’ve learned that is an impulse I need to give in to.”
Marshmallow man takes that as his cue to leave Tuna out there with his thoughts, retreating to the nearest no smoking section, which increasingly, is everywhere. He is a tourist at this party, the kind that doesn’t speak the language.
On the balcony, the smoke swirls up into the night air forming its own conversation. Tuna absentmindedly flicks and ash, and he laughs uneasily as it lands in the place where Marshmallow just stood. The vapor of his essence erupts in a constellation of sparks and blisters. Always the fire indeed. I could go for a graham cracker, he thinks to himself. The moment passes and the night comes back into stinging focus, as he notices that Marshmallow never got that safe distance he imagined. In fact, there he was, pooling on the sidewalk below the balcony, in a smoldering pile.
To be fair, it does say “keep away from cigars: not responsible for any damages incurred by giving cigars to tuna”. It is very clearly printed on the back of his can. But that seems like the kind of disclaimer that won’t hold up in court.
– Prize Fighting Marshmallow © Mike Chernoff 07/2017
Chernoff Writing.com 