Can you hear me? Is anyone out there?! Please. I need help.
There is so much kale in my refrigerator.
I just kept buying it. Everyone loves kale. Everyone. We… we… what do we do with kale? We… uh… we use kale to…. I can remember… kale is… Kale.
All the headlines raved about kale. “Behind the New Kale Craze.” “We’ve All Been Sleeping On Kale.” “Kale Me Crazy But You’ve Got to Check Out This Hot New Trend, Surprise It Is Kale.”
Are you… still buying kale? Please tell me I’m not the only one. Oh God, I have so much kale. I open my refrigerator and it’s just kale top to bottom. What was I supposed to do with it? Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. I’ve been buying it so long I've forgotten why. You’ll tell me, won’t you? What do you do with kale? You know don’t you? You… you eat it, right? How do I eat it? Tell me how to eat it. TELL ME. Please.
Sometimes I pace around my apartment for hours. I take small, circuitous steps through the bedroom, around the kitchen island, out onto the patio, and back again. I know where my path must end. I can’t escape it. My aberrant amblings always lead to the refrigerator. I sit before it on the cool tile floor. The plainness of the metal box does not betray its unfathomable contents.
If I close my eyes I can hear it whispering. The kale—no—The Kale has a voice. It is calling out to me. What does it want? Do you know? I know that you do. Why won’t you tell me?
It gets worse when I lie down to sleep. I see smoothies. Salads. Then more smoothies. More salads. Sometimes imitation potato chips. It seems the Kale wants to be eaten. I dream that I too am being eaten. I awake in a cold sweat. Eventually, I don’t sleep at all.
It just won’t stop. The whisper has become a cacophony. YOU did this to me. You should have told me. How was I to know? I bought the Kale, but you planted the seed of deception. This is your fault.
Eventually the call is all too much. I open the refrigerator. Erupting inside is a veritable jungle of Kale. It’s an ecosystem of its own, a Kale rainforest with little Kale creatures, Kale streams, a Kale canopy. And at the back of the refrigerator is a darkness. A void to be filled. My place among the Kale.
And as the bitter leaves fold in around me, I turn back to you once more A final look at the world I knew in life. I bid you farewell.
Wait, what did you just say about Quinoa? Am I supposed to be buying Quinoa now? Wait I—