The Last Straw
By Corey Miller
The entire world was transfixed by the TV. In all languages, the broadcasters described the atmosphere in the room. The camera zoomed in on the lucky woman chosen; next to her, a polished glass and a bottle of Coca Cola. All went quiet. Earth held its breath. The woman cracked the bottle open and decanted the smell of sassafras and caramel. She brought forth the last straw. The humans at home tensed their muscles and observed, not wanting to scare the endangered species.
The woman tore the end of white wrapping paper and the straw poked out of its home. Flashing lights and the sound of awe surrounded the straw. The woman slowly slid it out like a sword from its sheath to slice the Earth down to its fiery core. The straw dove to the bottom and attempted to float its way back out, longing to hop the rim of its cage and return to its unnatural habitat. The woman kinked her head to use the tool that moves liquid six inches and began to suck, her throat pulsating from gulping the sugary juice. The world watched in silence, while the Coca Cola disappeared like the ball dropping on New Years’ Eve. At last, a loud gurgling noise ended an era.
The humans sprung into the air cheering. People ran into the streets shouting and kissing their neighbors in jubilation. Parties broke out and alcohol was consumed. They would tell their children where they were the day of the last straw.
Without notice, while the humans looked the other way, the straw bent and rolled itself out of sight and out of mind. It floated down rivers past parties of people embracing like reunited lovers. It floated past politicians congratulating one another. It floated into the ocean searching for answers. Searching for its origin.
The waves pushed and pulled the straw like an accordion, creating dynamical tones, moving it deeper into the sea. Schools of fish knew all about plastic and carried the straw as servants would carry their ruler. Turtles with plastic belts and snappers with tummy tucks led the way. More and more plastic congregated with the currents. Eventually, the straw washed up on a netting of plastic bags interwoven to catch the guests of Trash Island. Greenhouses constructed from smooth beach glass, hotels of soggy corrugated cardboard, and convenience stores of non-recyclables formed the infrastructure.
The streets were immaculate and travelers constantly flowed in. The beer bottles howled as the wind blew across their lips, the shotgun shells would shoot the shit, and the used condoms got a private beach. The crazy straws arrived by pelican stomach like smuggled inmates who broke out of prison.
They gathered and assembled, first an island, next a castle, then a city for the ecosystem. Straws of all colors connected like Lego bricks to create walls, houses, and districts. The last straw was clear. A looming force banded together. The tides had changed.
Corey Miller lives with his wife in a tiny house they built near Cleveland. He is an award-winning Brewmaster who enjoys a good lager. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in X-R-A-Y, Barren, Cleaver, Bending Genres, Hobart, Gravel, and Cease Cows. When not working or writing, Corey likes to take the dogs for adventures. Follow Corey on Twitter @IronBrewer.
Photo credit: MetroUK.