Gordon the Gherkin lived in a
pickle jar, watching the world through
glass and
vinegar, waiting for those moments when the
darkness of the fridge gave way to the
light of the dining room table, for there it was he could see that which he loved. He never entertained thoughts of escape; these were thoughts too
grand for his
simple mind. He was content merely to wait for those moments when he could finally see the object of his
hopeless affection.
Gordon the Gherkin's jar was always placed next to a fruit bowl on the dining table, every week without fail, and there it was that he stared out in wonder at a sight of such divine beauty he could barely believe it was real. Lying back in the bowl, gently curved, smooth shining skin of such delicate yellow hue... the very portrait of perfection.
Yes, Gordon the Gherkin was besotted. How could he possibly know the truth? Yet he had stared out at this magical sight for months. How could it possibly be the same one every time? How would Gordon the Gherkin feel if he knew that every week, a child took this miracle of beauty from its bowl and tore away its skin? How would he react if he could see this child tearing it to pieces, masticating it and digesting it? What would he feel upon seeing the limp, lifeless skin tossed aside along with every kind of waste and filth?
Gordon the Gherkin knew nothing of this. He went on yearning in blissful ignorance for those precious moments when he could see his one true love, little suspecting that his one true love was different each and every time. He carried on feeling the same excitement each time the fridge door was opened, and carried on loving that which he could not reach, never knowing the inevitable fate which was destined to befall them. He just went on in his simple ignorant joy, never knowing that he shared one thing with his love - the same tragic destiny.