[Jimbalaya]

It's not every day you get to experience the wash cycle. I'm here to tell you, it's quite enjoyable. Maybe for you it would equal a hot, sudsy bath, or water that is on the verge of being entirely too hot flooding over you for an hour.

There is a couple that lives here. I see them from time to time. They need me, but I promise you, they rarely think of me. I'm pulled from the drawer on occasion, away from my friends, and out into the blinding light of the kitchen.

There is a black metal basket hanger hanging to the left of the sink from the ceiling, three tiers from top to bottom, each larger than the next. The top, and smallest basket, holds a large bushel of fat purple grapes, here and there overflowing and seeming to try for an escape through the kitchen sink if only they could find the will to jump. It's impossible for them to know that at the bottom of the drain lays certain doom in the form of a garbage disposal. The next basket, the one in the middle, is loaded with a heaping pile of gleaming red plumbs. They seem content to sit, as they are, immobile, for all eternity as long as the sun continues to rise every day. The bottom, and largest, basket holds seven large grapefruits. Their sheer size alone could convince the biggest, meanest grape that he was nothing more than a mere kitten. Maybe that's why the bushel of grapes doesn't try their escape. Fear of being nabbed and eaten by a giant grapefruit on their long fall.

The kitchen appliances are protected by a shiny black polished surface. The Fridge, the Stove, the Microwave, the Sink and the Dishwasher (oh, the sweet Dishwasher) are all gleaming black, winking back shiny spots of light. In contrast to the black appliances, the cupboards are all a flat, bright white color, with gleaming silver knobs. Above Dishwasher is a thick, polished granite counter in the shade of gray that brings to mind the almost blue color of an elephant's skin. The walls are painted a pale yellow-brown color and instead of offsetting the kitchen equipment, it accents it perfectly.

On the other side of the island-bar that Dishwasher resides there is a great, open space. In this space sits Dining Table. It’s a giant of a thing built of what can only be oak and though the surface has been polished to a smooth, fine finish, the piece somehow looks forbidding to me. Not to the Man and Woman who live here, though. They seem to enjoy spending time in their respective chairs at that table.

Lying in my tray, the only light is a thin crack at the front of the drawer. Here is where I spend most of my time. Though it is dark (and sometimes cramped) in here, it is not uncomfortable. I have many friends that occupy my time and the conversation is endless. If the drawer smells of anything, I couldn't tell you. I have no nose. Sometimes I wish I did, though, because some of the food that is prepared for me looks absolutely heavenly.

The crack of light at the front of the drawer widens and I am filled with excitement…and worry. I'm excited for the chance to be utilized, of having all of the wonderful sights and colors of the kitchen spilled on me once again. Of being fed. I am worried that I will not be chosen this time. I'm selfish, I must admit, and I want to be the one every time.

Luck is with me this night and I am plucked from my comfortable tray and birthed into the lighted world. The Woman has me. She is a skinny thing, though she is a monument of hugeness to me, with shoulder length blonde hair. She takes me across the kitchen to the dining table and sets me on a padded napkin next to my friend, Knife and another good friend, Fork. What will the entrée be tonight? The suspense is numbing.

The Man enters; he is even more monumentally huge than the Woman, with short-cropped black hair and a Fu-Manchu moustache. He looks powerful and, to be honest, I dread being held by him. I feel so small and weak when I am in his hand. I feel that at any moment he might press too hard on me, or in a moment of unexplained rage, twist me into tight knot. Lucky for me I don't have to worry about that tonight. Tonight I am the Woman's.

The Man and Woman sit down at Table and engage in what I guess must be small talk about their day's. I can't be sure, though, because I don't understand a word they say. I can't understand their language. They laugh and I know that they must be happy, because a laugh in any language can only mean one thing.

Above me, a distant relative, Ladle hovers and drips with a steaming brown gravy-like substance. It looks wonderful. Ladle dumps its heavy load into what must be a bowl. I can see the stacked ridges of the white bowl curving up and away from me. After a moment, Ladle hovers away from my line of sight and I feel the soft touch of the woman as she grips me. I'm lifted into the air, creating the faintest stirring of a wind in my wake. The time has come for me to be fed and in an instant I prepare myself. Above the bowl now, my vision locks like a vise on the contents held therein.

Stew!

Below me a vast ocean of onions, mushrooms, carrots, potatoes, corn, peas and meat float in thick, simmering gravy. I dart for the heart of the savory stew and all thought leaves my mind, save one: Food!

I am plunged into the searing heat of the stew and my head collides gently with the bottom of the bowl. I am lifted once again, but this time I reach blindly into the succulent muck. I reach, frantic to consume as much as I can before I break the surface of the steaming, chunky lake. I shatter the surface and potatoes part for me as if I was Moses parting the sea. But I don't come alone. For I hold as much as I can hold and I know as I watch a fat blob of gravy drip away from me and splatter far below on the surface of the meaty pond, that this is what I was made for. I seem to reach my destination and a giant pair of lips part. When I leave this space, the treasures that I hold have been stripped away from me. Empty once again, I dive for the heart of the bowl. Again and again I am driven deep into the hearty stew until there is nothing left for me to grab. I have had my fill and it was wonderful. It was complete ecstasy.

I am familiar with the routine, because it is a routine. After I am fed I get bathed. I am left for a few minutes in the bottom of empty Bowl and the Man and Woman talk. Soon, Bowl is transported with me inside, to the sink, where warm water is dumped on me in a great streaming shower. The remnants of the delicious stew are rinsed from me and I am filled with a deep sorrow for a moment. I know it may be a long time before I have a stew like that again. Then I am lowered into a plastic basket in the bottom tray of Dishwasher. This is my favorite part of this daily ritual: The bath. Several of my friends and acquaintances are placed in the basket along with much larger and possibly more important items: Plates, Bowls, Pans, and Cups litter the tray beside me and above me.

The man is at the door of Dishwasher and he squirts a pink substance into its tiny mouth. I see the Woman walk up and stand next to him; they appear to be bickering over something. Maybe the way the Man slopped the pink substance all over the face of Dishwasher. Who is to say? The door closes and I am plunged into the blackness of a thousand nights once again. But I am not afraid; I've been here before and I'll be here again, I know.

The air is thick with the anticipation of all of my friends, as well as myself, about what is about to come. It's like this every time. I hear the muffled beep of Dishwasher's acceptance as the Man or Woman pushes its button. Then the water comes.

There is a deep rushing roar from the bowels of Dishwasher and in an instant a hot jet stream of water spews forth from its many ports. I am hit with searing hot water and drenched in the blink of an eye. The heat does not bother me, for I have the strongest of skins. Instead, I seem to expand ever so slightly as the extreme heat from the water massages me. I settle into my little cage and enjoy this steamy bath. The air quickly changes form anticipation charged, to a thick charge of satisfaction and relaxation. The water drums on me for what seems like hours and if it lasted forever, I wouldn't have a care about it in the world. It is the closest thing to heaven the likes of me will ever know.

After a while, the water stops and an even hotter degree of steam is jetted into the belly of Dishwasher. It's like a sauna but instead of making me sweat, it dries me off completely. The end of the bath has come now and I know that soon I will find myself back in my cozy drawer, nestled in among my friends once again. From there, the anticipation will again build to frenzy until my skills are called for. I can't wait for tomorrow.

[Gurdit]

...is loaded with a heaping pile of gleaming red plumbs.

If it's the small red fruit you're talking about, then it should be "plums".

Maybe that's why the bushel of grapes doesn't try their escape.

Since you've used a collective noun (of sorts) here (the bushel), the subject changes from grapes to the bushel, which is singular, and then "their" is plural. So I think you should either remove "bushel" or change "their" to "its" or something.

Fear of being nabbed and eaten by a giant grapefruit on their long fall.

This, I think, is not a complete sentence in itself as much as it is a partial sentence that follows the previous one. I think instead of using a period before this, you should consider using a dash to show that it's a thought that grew out of the previous sentence.

On the other side of the island-bar that Dishwasher resides there is a great, open space.

I don't think "that" is the right word to use here. You could probably use something like "on which" or "below wish" or just simply "where". I also think you could OPTIONALLY put a comma after resides, simply to halt the flow there for a bit.

Lying in my tray, the only light is a thin crack at the front of the drawer.

I think that idea is a little incomplete. The only light what? I suggest completing it with something like "...the only light I receive..." or "... the only light I see ..." or something similar.

...small talk about their day's.

The apostrophe here makes it like a posessive noun. Just "days" would be fine, I think.

...before I have a stew like that again.

article not needed there.

...a hot jet stream of water...

I don't think you need both jet and stream. Just jet will do just fine.

The air quickly changes form anticipation charged, to a thick charge of satisfaction and relaxation.

Mmmm.... something needs fixing here, though I can't quite put my finger on it.

I can't wait for tomorrow.

Just a suggestion... how about ending it with an exclamation point?


==================

What a brilliant write, Jimbo! Absolutely fantastic. Everything a Streams of Consciousness should be.

I liked tremendously your characterization of the spoon. It seems to be an intelligent, nice fellow with its (I hesitate to use either "his" or "her") own likes, dislikes and enjoyments. A lot of people fail to do characterization well enough, but you've done a very good job here.

What I also liked is the subtle humour here. There were not many "jokes" as such, but your style of writing especially in this piece is jovial and happy.

Above Dishwasher is a thick, polished granite...

I love how you've used capitalization here, giving each appliance significance and life! Wonderfully written, very well thought-out.

I shatter the surface and potatoes part for me as if I was Moses parting the sea.

Haha! Brilliant!

The next time you publish something on this site, send me a buzz to read it. There's so much writing being published in so many categories here that I don't really get to read too many of the pieces. So PM me when you want me to read something!

[Jimbalaya]

Thanks, Gurdit. I wrote this quite a long time ago and haven't looked at it since. You make some very good points there and I'll fix it up when I can. This was one of those ideas that popped into my head and held me hostage. I had to get it out before I could write anything else. Those are most annoying, but sometimes are the best fun. Thanks!

[RENA HANDS]

Possibly...Maybe for you it would equal a hot, sudsy bubble bath, or a gush water that is on the verge of being entirely too hot flooding over you for an hour.(?)

Possibly...I’m pulled from the drawer on occasion, away from my friends, and (placed out on the counter) into the blinding light of the kitchen.(?)

Possibly...A black metal hanging basket clings to the left of the sink from the ceiling,(?)

Possibly...The first, the smallest basket hold a large bushel of plump, violet/purple grapes that seem to overflow edging their way freedom through the kitchen sink...if only they could find the will to jump. The second, the middle holder (R these real ‘baskets?’) contains a heaping pile of gleaming cherry plums. They seem content to sit, as they are, immobile, for all eternity for as long as the sun continues to rise everyday. The third, lowest suspended basket holds seven shining orange hued large grapefruits. Perhaps that’s why the bushel of grapes never make an attempt to escape/flee. The fear of being nabbed and eaten by a giant grapefruit is too great. Their long fall...is too great.(?)

Possibly...The kitchen appliances; the refrigerator, stove, microwave including the sink itself reflect a blinding shin off their polished black surfaces. All of them twinkle, wink as shimmering diamond against the night sky. In contrast the cold yet inviting machinery, the cupboards are pieces of ivory adorned by gleaming silver elegant/cultured knobs. Crowning the dishwasher, a thick (polished-something other than polished, but meaning the same thing.) granite counter the hue of jungle thrashing, stomping elephant. The walls are painted a pale yellow cake batter offsetting the chef’s equipment. It accents his domain perfectly. (As much as I’m, was a stickler for hard and blunt imagery, detail, but now as I grow, as u develop into an efficient writer, u should try to soften the description still keeping with ur image conveying/ed to the reader(s).) Of course this only my thought on things. Agree or disagree.

I think unless the appliance is identified by name/brand then leave it as ‘dishwasher,’ ‘stove,’ etc. etc..

In the next paragraph is the ‘open space,’ counter clock wise or the reversal their of? Again, using other directional words to give more imagery to ur tale.

Possibly...Streaming inside/upon my try is a sliver of golden light. It rushes over the flatness of my front drawer. The place where I spend most of my time. Although it’s dark inside my quarters and sometimes gasping for breath in my small, cramped compartment it’s not always uncomfortable. My friends, my many associates/comrades occupy our time in endless conversations.

The part where u mention the smells/aromas of the drawers that should be in a paragraph by itself. This is just my opinion.

I say keep a consistency with ur contractions (I’m or I am.) It gives ur tale a cleaner look, in my opinion.

The stream of light threading down in front of my drawer widens and (I’m/I am) filled with excitement...and worry. This my chance to be utilized of having contact with all the wonderful sights and colors of the kitchen spilling on me once again.

I will be fed!

But my worries of not being chosen...it lingers at my center/gnaws at my center. I’m selfish that I will admit wholeheartedly. I want, nay I need to be in use every time.

Praise the singing angels that guide my user to me this night. I’m plucked from accommodating tray and birthed into the illuminated world. The Woman has me. She holds me in her fine and delicate fingers. Her golden curls sway at the shoulders as she moves me across the kitchen to the dining table. I’m placed upon a padded/folded napkin. My friend, the knife sits to my left. And fork! Fork is to my right, glimmering ever so under the light bulbs/hanging chandelier above the dinner setting.

What will (be) the entrée tonight?

The suspense is numbing.

I’ll stop here for now, but I shall return tomorrow to read, comment and to make ‘my’ suggestions. And I’ll not forget my rating either...lol

[RENA HANDS]

Possibly…The Man has entered and he is even more monumentally huge than (his) Woman. With his (glistening) short-cropped hair and Fu-Manchu mustache, he (what’s is that animals/men do when they proudly stick out their chests?) and makes his approach towards the table. To others he looks powerful daunting/menacing. My body shivers to the thought of his assertive hold. I am but a dented/deformed needle in his hand. At any moment he may press my body too hard. In a heartbeat of inexplicable rage, his violent fingers will twist my limb into a tight knot.

Praise the almighty (who’s the ancient god of Iron/Metal? The maker of steel?) I shall be in the possession of the Woman. (Of course all or none of this could be taken into consideration. These are again, just my thoughts.)

From this point on, I think my reading eyes will remain focused completely on ‘ur words.’ But I hope u get my point. Give more with ur selection of vocabulary. The execution of illustration and or action. Make it more vibrant, in my point of view.

Unless u r speaking specifically of the ‘day’s events,’ then it would be…The Man and Woman sit down at (the) Table and engage in what (appears to be their day’s events.(?) OR something similar.

Possibly…I can’t be sure. I have no understanding of their words/language. They laugh. They must be happy. I’ve seen this situation before where Man and Woman’s mouth are slightly open; their bodies gyrate at a moment of heightened excitement. Arms are thrown to the air then down again pressing…(U know give an example of a previous encounter of ‘happiness resulting in laughter.)

Ur initial last sentence seems incomplete…They laugh and I know that they must be happy, because a laugh in any language can mean one thing. And how has ur ‘character’ seen foreign expressions of ‘happiness resulting in laughter?’

Should u capitalize ‘woman,’ here…and I feel the soft touch of the (Woman) woman as she grips me.(?)

Possibly…My time has come. It is (OR it’s) in this instant that I shall be fed. *I’m not certain if ‘fed’ is the correct word here. U r not really ‘feeding’ the utensil in question, but using it as is for another purpose.

Is this correct, just ONE singular ‘thought,’ or a GROUP of...I dart for the heart of the savory stew, all my (thoughts) leaves my mind, save one: Food!(?)

Again, I say keep a consistency with ur contractions.

Possibly…I reach (franticly) to consume all that I can before I break the surface of this steaming, chunky lake.(?)

Ur being repetitive about being or able to hold so much stew. It doesn’t hurt the story, but I think it could be rewritten in another way.

Is there a ‘have,’ possibly missing here…I (have) seem(ed) to reach my destination. The lips (who’s lips?) have parted.(?)

Here, should ‘Man,’ be capitalized? The (Man) man is at the door of the (dishwasher) Dishwasher…

Possibly show an example of past ‘bickering,’ or develop and extend further the situation of ‘bickering.’

A very delightful tale filled with suspense, drama and humor. I hope to see more of them from u, Jimbalaya. I give a rating 3 of 5.

[Vorcla]

Nice job, Jim. You do SoC well; I'm impressed. You should do more...

[Jimbalaya]

Rena - Thank you for taking the time to read this and, as always, for your useful suggestions. This was written a very long time ago. Maybe one of these days I'll come back to it and play with it a little more. For now, I'm working on something bigger and, hopefully, better. Thank you so much, Rena. It means a lot to me.

Rick - Thanks, man. I read this now and almost cringe, but it helps me realize how far I've come since I became a member of this site. The people here have helped, and continue to help me, become a better writer. Thanks for reading, maybe I'll try some more SoC in the future.