The Imaginary Diary of a Pickle

2/12: Dirt.

2/18: Dirt.

3/5: Cresting! Ah! What mine eyes do behold! There is sun and starlight in my view, and I do now realize that life hath been a barren Plato’s cave up to now! Gone the shadow underearth! And now, blessing! What brave new world that hath such veggies in’t!

3/10: Restless. Feel as though I’m stuck in the ground. I have been witness to the greater sky, but I, ah! I! Lie here rooted. When might I fly?

4/15: Picked. SWEET. Wings! An Unencumbered cucumber am I! And this shallow wooden box, ah! My glorious chariot!

4/16: Cucumbers. Many other brethren. Crushing me. In some large shadowy fortress with whirring sounds.

4/17: Fortress.

4/18: I have not yet been to France. Mayhap tomorrow.

4/19: Immersed in a strange new substance. Its intoxicating power is overwhelming.

4/20: Brine. Is. GOOD.

4/21: (Urp.) BRIIINNNNEEE……ISS……GOOOOOOD…..

4/23: Hazy. Very Hazy. Seem to have somehow gotten trapped. I float and bob, but am confined to a cave once more. The shadows! Shadows! The world looks dim and green. Where am I? Mother! Mother!

4/24: The brine hath dulled my wits. I cannot strategize for escaping. Fellow brethren are equally daft. Think we to be in “Jar.”

4/27: Brine.

5/15: Brine.

5/20: I am resolved to my fate. I shall never again see the sky, I shall never find my wings to fly. I blame myself. Just say no to brine.

6/12: Cupboard.

6/18: A gasp of air! An escape route perhaps!

6/19: Fridge.

6/21: Fridge.

6/22: Fork! Stabbed me in the wart! My life flashed before my eyes. But it left me be. It took Flannery though. Flannery! RIP my friend.

6/24: Fridge.

6/25: What a disappointment I am. Is this all there is? I have borne witness to many splendors, yet here I bob. A failure. A no-name. Only to have traveled from the ground to a jar. And now just to await death by fork? Scallywag, take me fighting! Yet I fear the brine hath sapped my strength for combat. Oh, woe. Take me then. Just. Take me.

6/28: Dockles and Watson gone now too. Don’t mind the loss of Dockles. But Watson! A finer pickle there never was.

7/1: FORK!! The Fork!!! Hath ravished me! Then left me to bleed in a clear plastic confine! I wish for escape, but fear that this is truly the end!!! Never more to delight in the wonders of this short life!! Never more to utter a hope or a wish! Peril! PERIL!!!

Tucker Pickle, Feb.-July 1st.
Eaten this afternoon. Few accomplishments or successes. Beloved friend and comrade. Digest in peace.