The wind swivels the candle flame. The flame is either coyly dancing to such a flirt, or swaying in rejection. No one can tell because no one speaks Pyroish.

– I don’t believe in the unfairness of life.

   The silvery voice lightens up the density of the darkness that has been amassing around the table.

– Why?

– Because life is fair but full of bad timings. I am plastic and I have endured long enough. And now you no longer need me.

– Why not?

– Because we need no more plastic. Plastics are polluting the world. Plastic bottles are suffocating sea creatures. Plastic surgeries are exterminating organic beauty. Plastic manners eradicate core values.

   It is dead silent again in the time that takes a dew drop to leave the blade of grass and reach the ground. 

– I do need you. Everyday. I need a plastic bag to carry vegetables home from the supermarket. I need that same plastic bag to dump garbage in and throw away.

– But not this time. 

– We’ll see.

   They both look out over the meadow deeply sunk in the bog of the new moon night.


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