KetchupUn Life

I have a blood pressure cuff. It is used to tell my blood pressure. The cuff is connected to a small screen. When my blood pressure is high, it computes an important number on the numerator of the reading. Usually I feel nervous, or amped, and it reads a high number. It is like this most times. My blood pressure cuff sometimes hurts my arm. I am not old. I am young. It sucks. I feel the blood pump in my head when someone yells at me. Iâm pretty sure itâs because my blood thickens into a paste. Today I decided to find out. So I waited. Every time I checked the reading was low. Which was good. So I waited longer. Then I got a call from my mother. I went to my blood pressure cuff. It read a number and said âhigh.â I took an exacto knife I had used to work on multiple projects with. Poster boards, stencils, peeling labels, athleteâs foot. I pierced the knife deep into the flesh of my left arm, and what do you know. A thick, filmy paste pushed out through the cut. It reminded me of the frozen yogurt machine I would visit in the summer. Only red frozen yogurt. I took my right index finger, dipped it into the viscous contents and proceeded to taste it. It tasted like ketchup. It was time for an outing.
         
I drove to McDonaldâs and walked inside. From the beginning of my presence, my fellow fast food customers gave me strange looks, some even giggled. I guessed it was because of the large cut on my arm, but there was an eerie atmosphere nonetheless. The line was long, but not too long. There had been worse days, especially during the High School lunch rush hour. All the students would run across the street to help themselves to a high calorie, soda sugar rush before returning to their education. When I was that age I never went near a fast food place at lunch, I felt a certain hostility in those places. And now I was experiencing that exact hostility. I approached the counter. A young, mediocre looking woman was standing uncomfortably behind the register.

âIâll take three large fries pleaseâ
âIs this a joke?â
âNo. Iâm just hungryâ
âUmm, okayâ

I handed her my money.

âWould you like ketchup with thatâ
She began smirking.
âNo, I should be alrightâ

         When I grabbed my fries and sat down, I opened the bandage on my arm and began dipping the fries right into my wound. An extremely efficient, environmentally friendly, painful endeavour. Then the eyes in the restaurant became wide, and the gasps in the air became constant. I continued to eat my meal. They could screw off for all I cared, I was content with my method. As I began wiping my mouth and was about to leave, I noticed that this particular McDonaldâs had security cameras. There was a large TV display showing the main cameraâs live footage. I looked up at it. I rubbed my eyes, then checked again. There was a large bottle sitting in my chair. A large, red bottle. The words Heinz printed across the midsection. I looked to my left. I looked to my right. No sign of the bottle. Then it all made sense. I got out of my seat and ran out the front door, knocking over an innocent customer with my large polymer body. I made it out into the street and fell upon my knees, crying and screaming.

         âWHY. WHY MUST I FIND THIS OUT NOW. I HAVE SO MUCH TO LEARN. SO MUCH TO CATCH UP ON!â

------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------- ------------------------- ------------------------