Soylent Green is People!


Soylent Green is People!

I thought it was just a movie. Remember that movie? Soylent Green? It was back in the 60’s, I believe. They made a movie about turning people into instant food. I didn’t think it was true, I mean it is Hollywood, right?

Well, it isn’t Tinsel Town. I don’t know if Hollywood made the name up or if this new company made their name up or if it was one or the other. These days does it really even matter? Everyone copies the other. No one even has an original idea anymore and I thought these people were just playing on the name Soylent Green. Boy, was I wrong!

I ordered some just for kicks. It’s a meal replacement powder for those who want to lose weight or stay healthy. It has all of the essential and non-essential vitamins, minerals, and amino acids. The flavors are Lynched Lime, Gangster Grape, Hooked on Honeysuckle, and Murderous Mango. The names were pretty interesting and weird so I thought it was a great gimmick. It kind of grossed me out, but I had to try. They listed their ingredients as soy products and their own proprietary blend of flavors, vitamins, and minerals that came from all natural sources and includes at least 200% of your daily requirements of all vitamins and minerals then listed all of them–including the amino acids. It had everything and had the perfect combination of fat, protein, and carbs.

When the first shipment came in, I reluctantly tried it. The name still made me feel ill. I kept thinking of the line in the move Soylent Green where Charlton Heston who played Detective Thorn says “Ocean’s dying, plankton’s dying… it’s people. Soylent Green is made out of people. They’re making our food out of people. Next thing they’ll be breeding us like cattle for food. You’ve gotta tell them. You’ve gotta tell them!”

I mixed it with water. They said to always use water because the cattle were polluting our air with methane and that eating any kind of meat like cow and chicken was murder. I kind of laughed as I read that, still remembering the movie Soylent Green. If they joked about the flick, why couldn’t I? It wasn’t like they were actually crushing up human flesh and bones then pouring it into soft drinks.

The first taste surprised me. I was extremely pleased. It was not too sweet and it was beautifully tart–almost like a fresh squeezed lime. I love the tart flavor of limes, but I wanted to try all of them so I ordered the mixed flavor pack. I laughed at the names. They sounded like crazy phrases from a crime show. I couldn’t wait to see what they came out with for orange and punch flavors.

For days I consumed Soylent Green. It was the only thing I could eat! I felt so satisfied and full just after one glass. I had more energy than ever and not having the time to cook gave me more time to enjoy my wonderful drink. I was obsessed and needed more. They were out of Hooked on Honeydew, which was ok because it wasn’t my favorite, so I ordered more Lynched Lime and Gangster Grape. As I shook up a new mix of the two in the bottle that I ordered from Amazon just to mix my new favorite meal drink, the news came on with some astonishing information.

“Crime is down all over the country. Even in heavily concentrated spots where it seemed impossible to bring down the crime levels.”

I turned up the tv as I started up the treadmill and began my morning walking regimen. Same as it ever was. Crime might have lowered in our country, but in others it was up. War was still going. Terrorists were still bombing innocent people. Always depressing. At least I had my new drink and I could make my life better, I thought to myself. The news went on about people who were disappearing from the streets until someone started banging on my door.

The knocking brought me out of my self gratifying daze and I jumped off of the treadmill. “Let me in, Jess!”

“What is it, Paul?” It was a friend of mine I had known since high school. He let himself in and just started blabbering about our friend Sandee who had been missing for months.

“I thought I finally found her. When she lost her job she went to this homeless camp up in the city. They said she was there for months and then started turning tricks. Dammit, Jess. I wish I could have found her before that happened. I couldn’t find her in jail. They said they let her out and then lost track of her. The people at the homeless camp said she just disappeared after that without a trace. Just gone. Her tent and bags were gone, too. Some homeless shelter took them, but she never showed up there. I’m worried, Jess.”

He grabbed a Hooked on Honeydew drink and popped it open then started drinking. “Damn, this is good.”

I looked at the name of the drink and the company. “Soylent Green. Hooked on Honeydew. Soylent Green is people,” I said out loud, then thought about our friend. Then thought about the lesser crime and the missing people. Suddenly, I felt ill.

“What? You look green!” he looked at the can and covered his mouth real fast. “What the hell, Jess? Don’t think like that.”

“I can’t help, Paul. I mean, what if it’s true?”

“It’s just a movie, Jess. They aren’t really killing people and certainly not putting them into food. They wouldn’t do that.”

“People are missing all around the country, Paul. Everywhere. They were just reporting how it is people who wouldn’t be missed. Homeless, criminals without family. She had no family Paul, and we weren’t there for her.”

After I convinced him that something bad was going on, he agreed to help. We looked for our friend for months, but still couldn’t find her. People are still disappearing in the city and the new drink is the most popular ever. No one will test it for us. No one. Not the college, not even the cops. After I started asking around about testing the drink I began receiving anonymous threats over my email and my cell phone–on a number that no one knows. Now my friend Paul has gone missing and I’m scared. I don’t know who to turn to.

Soylent Green is real! It is People!

All rights reserved. Please do not copy. &copy 2017 Spooky Boo

Visiting Uncle by GreyOwl

 

It’s quiet around here again. Nobody wants to talk anymore at the dinner table or have family fun days in the living room, Monopoly money littering the wood floors.

Everything is dreary and dull, lacking in high spirit. It’s disappointing to witness the change within the atmosphere of what I am forced to call home. Everyone seems to be emotionally detached, walking around resembling living zombies. My own brother and sister avoid one another as they walk down the halls of our home, glancing abruptly in the other direction shall they make eye contact. I haven’t had a conversation with anyone within the house in days, and there is only one thing to blame for this.

Before the visit, everything was perfect. My siblings had their friends over daily, munching on delicious pizza, watching movies all night, and indulging in bountiful amounts of candy. Sadly, there is no more candy, pizza, or friendly visits. Every shred of happiness has been ripped apart violently, charred in the fire of destruction. Our years of happiness, our cheerful laughs, have all dissipated from thought. In place of happiness was our uncle.

His visits are always unwanted. Though I tell myself that his visits are temporary, I can’t help but remember the last time he showed up at our doorstep. Though he is family, though he is a part of us, no one can really stand him. Still, we endure him as long as we can, abiding by his strict rules and policies. Just as us children have done, my parents abide by his orders with no exceptions.

I have to tell myself that every family has an uncle that never seems to fit in with the rest. I have to tell myself my uncle is a part of our bloodline, eliminating any hatred of him from my thoughts, but it’s so damn hard. I mean, if you knew what he does to us… it’s just not right.

As I sit across from him now, watching on as my mother prepares our dinner, I cannot help but want to lunge across the table, grabbing ahold of whatever I can on him. His expression alone is enraging. Though everyone else is terrified of his devious smirk, I want nothing more than to rip it off of whatever it is he calls a face. But, as my mother approaches the table with the steaming pot in hand, my eyes glance towards the kitchen she derived from. Like every visit from uncle, the countertops were stained red, oozing crimson remnants onto the floor. Though my eyes know not to look further, I can not resist the urge to. There, dangling lifelessly off of the cutting board, are my friend’s legs.

I try to hold back the tears as my uncle looks upon me, his glare burning through my skin. Somehow, I manage to suck the tears back within their ducts as my mother spoons Alexandria soup into the bowl placed before me.

“Eat,” Uncle says.

I stare down at the bowl, catching a glimpse of what appears to be a tongue within the browned concoction. Immediately, I get the urge to vomit, but I swallow it down, erasing all traces of fear from my mind.

“Eat!” he repeated.

From my peripheral, I see my mother’s horrified expression. Her head nods frantically, as if to insist I correspond with Uncle’s twisted rule. I shake my head in refusal, standing abruptly as I throw the bowl into the wall where Uncle had stood milliseconds prior. It didn’t take long for me to feel the hot breath upon my neck. It didn’t take long for those freezing hands to wrap ever so delicately around my neck. It didn’t take long for my lungs to struggle for the smallest fraction of air.

“You will eat,” Uncle mutters, licking my face with his sandpaper tongue.

The satisfaction I’m giving Uncle is not what I want. I can’t allow him to feast on my fears, tears, or pain any longer. So I tap out, patting his leather like skin aggressively. Immediately, his grip lessens, and I can once again breathe. Almost instinctively, my mother fills another bowl with my friend, and places it before me. Once the bowl is stationed within its rightful place, my mother takes her seat and begins eating.

Though I want to escape, I know there is no escaping Uncle. My late brother attempted that, and he took place of our friends at the family dinner. So, instead of drawing out my own demise, I sit down, pick up my spoon, and begin eating. There is no escaping Uncle. Uncle controls us, feeding on what remains of our sanity with each visit. Uncle is us.