Perry the Pessimistic off Plum

11/14/09

So it’s me again, Olivia.

I finally decided to check on Perry my plum.

When I opened the container, my lungs collapsed. I don’t even know how to explain the beastly, foul, vulgar, repugnant, nauseating, impure, smell of that fricken’ plum.

Besides the smell, the plum is rather small. About the size of a 10-year old’s thumb. Or a thimble, but a thimble can be big, too…right? Well, let’s go with a thumb. The plum is black as far as I can tell. About the color of motor oil. Perry is completely laden with wrinkles. Deep, saturated wrinkles. No Revlon, or Loreal, or Aveda cream and get rid of these! There are a bunch of little tiny, white specks all over his body. However, they are not in the cracks or crevices, they just reside on the raised, ridges.

Perry is extremely squishy these days. With one little squeeze, juice protrudes out of every hole in his body. When I feel around on him, I can feel a hard, big, lump in his body. Knowing that Perry is dead, I squeezed his entirety; it only took one pinch for Perry to come completely apart. It’s a pit. A plum pit. Who knew that such a sickly, deathly, unhappy plum, had just a lovely, life-filled seed inside it’s body…maybe Perry is really a Portia?The pit took up most of Perry’s body space. I believe the only thing keeping Perry intact was this pit.

The bag is now filled with Perry’s brown, sewage-like, sludge.

RIP Perry.

(…or Portia)

11/8/09

Today has given me a whole new look on things.

I’m not soo much black anymore as just a dark purple. I hate how my color keeps fluctuating.The white specks are gone for now—they are now grey specks. I can tolerate this, for they are slightly darker, so they are hidden in my dark skin. Though, this all still sucks.

I can tell I am about to die. I’ve been riding the edge of this wave for soo long, I can just smell it coming (literally). My life has gone full circle. I was once a wrinkly, dark brown, senseless seed, and now I am a wrinkly, dark purple, senseless plum. With this I know it’s time for me to go.

This will be my last entry.

11/5/09

So today is another “fun” day. I’m back in this plastic, crowded drawer; enclosed in a tiny space in between magazines, books, and journals. Today, I’m fully black, but I have some white specks all over me—they resemble powedered sugar. If only they tasted that way. Which is my complaint of the day—taste. I used to look yummy, delicioso, おいいしい, 追い石井, or whatever other languages you want to put it in—I was GOOD-TASTING. But now, now I am not. I look like someone dropped me in a bucket of tar. I’m jet black. Go take a piece of pencil lead, dip it in oil, then cover it with specks of moldy bread, and that’s what I taste like.

Damn.

10/31/09

Happy Halloween!

So today I am sitting on top of her TV. Still, I am in this plastic bag, inside of another plastic box, but that’s okay. At least I am out of that large plastic drawer. Today is another lax day. The puddle of juice dryed up and is now all crusty and hard in the corner of the bag. I smell putrid, but today I am self-conscious of my dying looks. My beautiful, plump, amethyst skin is wrinkly, dry, black, brown, pale, dark, hard, cracked, everything that isn’t beauty itself. One might say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but her mom threatens her to never let me be out of her room in the public eye. Am I really that nasty? That gross? That horrendous?Am I really just soo moldy, rotten, putrid, sickly, ghastly, scary, spooky, frightening? Am I? I’m cold, I won’t warm up to room temperature, I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying.

10/29/09

Today is another boring day. I sit here and look at my surroundings. I notice the newly-formed plum juice puddle in the corner of the bag, I try to move away. And it’s at that moment I realize that I, Perry, am but a simple plum. I cannot move, I cannot walk or talk or run or wiggle or anything. I can only simply sit here as my wilted, purple skin decays. The end is near. My smell is becoming more and more putrid as the days pass. I smell like three-day old tomato sauce from Sunday night’s dinner. I smell like burning rubber in a dump, a big ‘ol wasteland of moldy, rotting, smelly items. I smell like a wet dog in the summer sun. I smell like wet peanut butter on a metal butter knife. I smell bad. I smell horrid. I smell, I smell I smell.

10/26/09

I’m feeling quite good these days. I’ve drained all of that gunk out of my system. I’m about half of the size I used to be, but that’s okay. Everyone wants to be smaller these days, right? My smell is a little less putrid, that’s good also, in fact, that’s great. I have a feeling my life is going full circle. You know, the whole, “You were born in a diaper and you’ll die in a diaper” sort of thing. My color is about 65% of the way restored. That’s even better. I want to be ROYAL again. Purple is the most majestic color of all. Back to the full circle thing. My skin is less bumpy, it’s smooth. And it’s also no longer slimy, it’s dry and rubbery. I’m no longer full of juices besides the normal, everyday kind. And, my holes have been filled, I’m whole again. I’m glad at the fact that I am no longer rotten and sickly and nasty and moldy, but this only reminds me that my life will be over soon; real soon. I feel restored though, of energy that is. I’m more lively and up and at it. It’s a shame there’s no one here to live it with me. But I’ll prosper. I’ve gone a long way in two weeks, and if I can stick it out one more week, then I’ll be glad. Glad that I’ve had the emotional and physical stability to make it a month in utter solitude.

10/24/09

It’s the weekend.And I’m in a creative mood, please bear with me and my enchanting haiku, circle poem, a free-verse poem, and a lovely drawing.

My life is over

Once beautiful, now sickly

I’m fading…fading…

Plums

Purple

Royalty

Almighty

Lord

Creator

Creation

Culinary

Food

Dessert

Pie

Apple

Fruit

When the time comes, I’ll be here

I’ll be here already dead

He’ll come and tell me my life is over

But it has been over for much longer than he thinks

It’s been over since day one

My heart

My body

My soul

All bruised, beaten, broken

Nothing to look forward to

Nothing to cheer me up

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

When he takes my soul and puts it into his jar and declares me ‘over’

I’ll be glad

I’ll be relieved

I’ll be free

Just kidding, no drawing, I’m a plum you idiot!

Oh, I’ve noticed a few differences actually. My body is a little bit smaller, as of last night, I’ve been “draining” a lot. It’s getting quite messy in here. I’m beginning to look like a raisin, but I’m no grape, I’m a plum. My “craters” are now becoming bumps, not quite spores, but it looks like I have hives. They are black and don’t stand out against my now black skin. I have no idea what that white stuff was, but I’m glad it’s 75% of the way gone. I feel like myself. But when I look in the mirror, I feel torn. I want to cry. I’ve never felt this broken before. I’m another plum, a whole other plum.

This was me :

This is me:

10/21/09

I figure it’s time to update on how I am looking, because it’s been a couple days and I’ve noticed some changes.

My body is even more bloated. The juices are just filling me up to the top, to the utter top. There’s not much more I can handle. I’m drowning in my own fluids. I’ve become completely white at this point—like a black man with Vitiligo (http://bryanking.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/vitiligo.jpg). My once purple complexion is gone, gone, gone. My skin has become even more slimy and slick also. Where those blue spores once where and where the hair once lay, there are craters—holes, dips, crevices, whatever you want to call them. My body is becoming inevitably delicate, too. I can’t be too active or else I’ll just fall flat. I’ve noticed that my front and sides have more purple than my back, top, and bottom—this is calming, but I still yearn to have my royal purple skin once more. As I type this, I feel some of the fluid inside of me draining into the plastic bag; this is repulsive, I cannot handle it anymore. I just want the weeks to be over so I can be laid to rest. Since all of the fluid is inside of me, my skin, my actual skin, is dry. If one didn’t know any better, they might think I spent the night in the desert, but no, this is what happens to someone once they’ve been sitting in a closed environment for a while. I long to be beautiful. I long to be free from this rotting corpse. I long to die.

10/19/09

I thought I would make this more of a rant. Since I haven’t really changed since yesterday, besides a little more bloating, there’s nothing to update.

I’m frustrated. My ‘owner’ comes home from school and tends to her dog, then has a snack, then does this ‘work’ while I sit here and bathe in my own filth! Does she understand the hardships I go through? DOes she? I find it difficult to appreciate the life I have when it is non-exsistent. I miss being outside, I miss my plum friends—Lucy, Martin, Jessica, George, and Leo (the most). I can’t help but cry myself to sleep every night. Once she goes to sleep, I usually write these. I look through her history only to find out I am a part of an experiment! REALLY?! An experiment?! I could be enjoying myself, but no, I have to sit here and rot and rot and rot and rot and rot and rot and rot and rot. Did I mention all I do is rot? Seriously, this is annoying. My figure and well-being have gone to dust all because she has to “record my current condition(s)”. This is B.S.! I deserve more than this. For I am Perry the Plum the III. I, Perry, should be treated with much more respect and dignity than I am being given.

*sigh*…time to go back to sleep…

10/18/09

Here I am. Again, dying a little more day by day. Not much change since the last time I updated this, but I can tell, once again, that the end is near. My body is slowly expanding again. Like I’ve sucked up all of my body juice and sweat only for it to be pushed out again. I’m turning extremely white. There is no longer much purple on me. The spores are becoming harder and aren’t easily taken off and the hairs are disengrating much like me. With one gentle squeeze to the torso, a burst of juice explodes from my side. Can this be true? Am I really this way? Only a few weeks ago I was handsome, a gentle young man, but now, now I am ugly, now I am tarnished. Why me? I look like a cow brain, no a frog leg, no, I look like a moldy, rotting plum. It’s a nasty thing and I wish it wasn’t me. I miss being in the wilderness sitting up in the tree top just watching people go by on their bikes, enjoying the cool, crisp fall days, and the cheers from the football games. But all of that is over, just as my life is. I sit here everyday in this dark drawer, just waiting, waiting for something to happen. Will it? When will I finally be dead?