In a Cherry Flavored Coffin by Nicholas Arthur
I.
In an office in the back of a tiny strip mall. The feeling of compromises. The feeling of dreams falling away. There was a little factory but now that’s gone. Our candy isn’t sold everywhere. It’s the kind that grows stale in your great aunt’s candy bowl. It’s the kind that sticks around months after Halloween. I’m in this office staring at documents that don’t make sense anymore.
II.
I remember talking to the research and development people many times. Cherry always did well. They weren’t sure why, but it did. It’s still my favorite flavor. Does the ground have a favorite flavor? Is it possible to do a taste test study with worms? I guess I’ll be the first test in a cherry flavored coffin.
III.
I’ve been to many different casket makers. I’ve told them my wishes for a final resting place. They’re respectful, but barely conceal laughter. They ask a lot of questions that don’t have satisfying answers. I leave unsatisfied. I want to be buried in a cherry flavored coffin.
IV.
I spend long hours in my office. Lots of coffee and, of course, candy. I’m working on the dimensions of the coffin. I’m making sure the cherry flavor is just like our hard candy. It’s still our best seller. I don’t feel so alone lately. No one bothers me back here. I’ve signed away most of the company to younger people who know better ways to maximize profits.
V.
The new owners don’t like candy much. It seems like they only drink water, eat green things and run. It seems like they’d rather go for a run than sit through these meetings. I remember during a meeting I offered one a bowl of our candy. “I don’t put that poison in my body,” he said. I cried on the drive home.
VI.
There was a candy store on our street. I would save up money. All the candies were in large glass jars. There was so much color on those shelves. The clerk was always so friendly, no matter how many kids were swarming the counter. Our house was so cold, not even any paintings. Just drab colors and functional things. We lived in fear of the paddle that leaned against the wall. I wanted to spend as little time as I could there.
VII.
I remember seeing all the machines shining and ready to make candy. Bags and bags of it. Our candy made it to every corner of the globe. I remember sitting in my office unable to do a thing that first day. I just listened to the sounds of the factory. The little conversations, the whirs and clicks of the machines. It seemed like this factory would stand forever. But things change. There are so many new factories, I haven’t even visited them all.
VIII.
I now live in a small house near the edge of town. You wouldn’t know someone with a candy empire owned the place. I kept to myself. I listened to old film scores and dusted knick-knacks after getting a bit stoned. I drifted off on the couch where I dreamed about the candy store from my youth. I was finally going to try green candies on the top shelf.
IX.
There’s a flower pressed in an old book on a high shelf. The flower was jokingly put behind my ear by the only person I ever loved. She died before me. We separated long before that, but I never met anyone who gave me the same feeling. I know the flower is still there, I don’t need to get it down. My grave will be in the same cemetery, but separated by hundreds of others. Just knowing that is good enough for me.
X.
There are a few nice words and a couple of people to hear them. Mostly distant family, no sign of the new owners. I watch the dirt scatter over the bright red lid. I leave floating above the trees, watching the buildings get sparser. It’s night now. I drift off in a field. A joyous feeling moves outward through my limbs, sugar on my tongue again.
About Nicholas Arthur is 28 years old and currently lives in Michigan. He is a Wayne State University graduate. Along with poetry he dabbles in music and art. When he is not writing he can be found looking in the bargain bin at the record store, drinking coffee far too late at night and eating breakfast any time he pleases. He has a cat named Simba.