Orange Juice

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just orange juice doing orange juice things, contemplating life, sinking into depression, and other fun crises. Possibly the first story I've ever realized to this extent.

Submitted: February 11, 2015

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Submitted: February 11, 2015

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To an orange juice, there is no higher pleasure, than being drank. To satisfy a thirst is their orgasm. It is also the end of their life cycle, quite like the Pacific salmon, which is a sort of fish that has sex and then dies. This may sound sad to you, but it is what the orange juice wants, and it is what the orange juice more often than not gets. I mean, come on, why waste a good glass of orange juice? However, there are a few glasses of orange juice that do not get drank. This is the story of one of those few.

Our hero, the orange juice, was just poured about a minute ago. It had at that point, gained consciousness, something that orange juice only does when it is poured away from its brethren in the pitcher. The orange juice only has need of consciousness in order to recognize and feel its ecstasy, and it is why orange juices evolved to gain consciousness at that point. Evolution thanks in part, to our genetically modified oranges, but that would be a different story. This orange juice was now self-aware, and knew from instinct what was supposed to happen soon. He (all orange juices are male, mostly due to the lack of my desire to type an extra "s") was to receive the greatest experience of his whole minute of living. Which, by the way, isn't very hard to achieve. He knew it was coming, and he was ready.

It was literally all he could think about, all he was able to think about. He wasn't bred to think of anything else except "I want to quench a thirst!". And he didn't even think that. He thought something else in orange juice language, something you or I could never understand. But it was quite similar to what was stated, so we'll go with that. In fact, anything you read of this thinking will likely be a loose translation, one that leaves out all of the complexities of orange juice language. So this story could very well be entirely bullshit, but we'll go with it, because it is fun to do so. He was consumed by this thinking, this singular thought, one that he would never, ever see come to fruition (this would be pronounced fruit-ion in this case). He didn't know this, so he was still happy, but in a ignorant sort of way, a way that is what makes most people happy, their not knowing the full situation. So he expected he was to be drank.

As time went on, his happiness began to waver. It had been five minutes since he had been poured. This was the equivalent of decades in an orange juice's life. He had grown old with the thought of him being drank one day. Days being minutes, of course. Orange juices are typically drank near immediately after they are poured, so the worry that struck this particular one wasn't irrational. What if he were doomed to live sitting in this glass until he spoiled? That thought, was what really drove him mad. In another minute or so, he started to become angry. His genetics had not prepared him for this. He was only prepared to love being drank, and this was not happening, so of course he became angry. Who wouldn't? Its quite like being pissed off that you can't walk when all you ever see is your friends getting up out of chairs and walking. Those bastards, why would they walk in front of you? Couldn't they go walk somewhere else? The orange juice had only ever seen other orange juice leave the collective consciousness of the orange juice pitcher and be drank. So why wasn't he being drank? That was a question he couldn't answer. All he had left to do was be pissy about not fulfilling his life's purpose.

What was there left to do? Nothing really. The glass he was in was no fun to talk to, no dishes really are. They all seem to have that same problem with being dirtied and then half-assedly cleaned, and that was all they wanted to talk about. So the glass and the orange juice didn't talk. They were just too different. The orange juice really wasn't that great to talk to either, especially in the mood he was currently in. He really had nothing to do. He was in his own head, all the time. And he had none of the freedom you and I have, he had no legs, and could walk nowhere. He also couldn't cry out for help, and that left him with no options. He would be stuck in this position forever. And if he didn't like it, then he would have to live with it anyway. He currently did not like it, so this wasn't the best of times for the orange juice. It was in fact, the worst of times. The worst of times, of all the time in this orange juice's under ten minute lifespan.

What did he do with all the pent-up, angry energy that he gained from his sad situation? Nothing. He physically couldn't do anything, I mean, he's an orange juice, what would he do? He thought about trying to tip himself over, so that his contents would spill out over the counter and he could possibly be spread so thin that he wouldn't have to think about any of this anymore. However, he is an orange juice, and he has no muscles in which to do the tipping. Seriously, he could do nothing. All he could do was think. And for him, thinking meant mostly brooding on the fact that he had nothing to do but think. He could not get away from that line of thinking. It was inescapable. What else was there to do besides wallow in his own sadness? He was an orange juice, so therapy wasn't available to him. He had no avenues of learning to deal with his anger and sadness in ways besides constantly thinking about it.

Things got dark for the orange juice. His one life wish, to be drank, turned into a death wish. If he had no one who truly wanted to drink him, then why even live as an orange juice? Why even continue to wish to be drank? It wasn't going to happen anyway. And if he could wish to be drank, he would only be making someone drink him who never wanted to anyway, before being magically made to. The orange juice looked back at his now ten minute life, and thought, what have I accomplished, what have I done, that was worthwhile? None of it was. It was all insignificant. He had done nothing but think, think of how much he wanted to be drank, and think of how much he hated not being drank. Surely that wasn't something that anyone would remember. Especially because he couldn't communicate. No one would ever know of anything he had done, even though those things were tiny in his mind.

The orange juice couldn't be in a worse place. Any sentient being would be upset with the lack of fulfilling their life's purpose and then being unable to find another one. This is only made worse when finding another life's purpose is nearly impossible on top of being unable to find one. Seriously, what else could he do, start dreaming of doing something else he'd never accomplish? The orange juice was lost, but hope for him wasn't. Certainly it seems at this point that he'd stay in his state for the rest of his short orange juice life, but, he wouldn't. No one ever stays sad forever, our range of human emotions is too great that we would ever stay in one emotion for too long. And even if he isn't human, does he not share our human experience? Our human desire to feel fulfilled? As long as the orange juice exists it is a human as much as you or I, and one that feels as much as you or I do.

So where does he go from here? He has no one to ask advice from, not even the glass, as its sad existence has taken over its life, leaving it with nothing but the occasional liquid filling him up, and only going to show it that its life has no purpose but to continually serve its human masters. The glass has truly given up. And that gets the orange juice thinking. If I can still hold myself up against the glass and think that I haven't hit that rock bottom, then I have to think that I still have room for happiness. I haven't become the sad sack that the glass is, and I don't have to go down that track. I have in fact, something far better than movement, or having been drank, I have my consciousness. And with that, I can do far more than anything I ever wished I could do. My whole life has been devoted to two things, being drank, and then death because I hadn't been drank. If I can surpass either of those things in importance of thought, then I will have truly lived. And so the orange juice did live, and lived well. He imagined things so great that they sustained his happiness into eternity. With a brain, and a will, anything you think of can be great. And this orange juice was happy finally. And without having to fulfill some instinctual purpose. He could create his own purpose, and it could be whatever he wanted it to be. It could change at any time, and it could be as far-fetched as he wanted it to be.

Now, this is great for the orange juice and all, but as we all know, nearly all food items are perishable, and the orange juice is one of those food items. He couldn't possibly sustain his life forever. Just like us, he would die someday. In his now twenty minutes of existence, he had went through a great change, one that could change the lives of so many other orange juices. He could not tell them though, he never could. He realized this, and while it did sadden him, it didn't put him down. He would become something else, his consciousness would flow into the next life, just as he had once been an orange, concentrate, a pitcher of orange juice, and now a glass of orange juice. What his next life would bring, he did not know, because his previous notion of what life would become was going through a human digestive system. That wouldn't happen now. The next stage of his journey was unclear, and he had to discover it himself.

Now, as he thought this, a human stepped into the room. Not the same one who had poured him, but that one's daughter. She saw the glass of orange juice, and knew that no one had been in the kitchen for at least twenty minutes, so she put two and two together and figured that it was old and needed to be poured out. She took the glass and poured its contents down the drain of the kitchen sink. This was, a regular occurrence to the girl, if not somewhat uncommon, and she thought nothing of it. She proceeded to then walk out of the kitchen, having forgotten why she walked in there in the first place.

The orange juice felt itself spread thin, and then finally broken up. But this orange juice's mind was too powerful to be shut out entirely. Its thoughts and ideas came with it into this new form, this huge consciousness of rushing water. His ideas, as powerful as they were, seeped into the collective thought of the rushing water, and became the most prominent thought in its mind. The rushing water became sewer water, and the sewer water became an even larger body of water, a lake. And that lake flowed into a river, and that river into an ocean. The orange juice's ideas had become more common than the notion that water exists only to flow according to gravity and what is in it. This was the most common notion in the water previously, and it was usurped by the radical yet inherently good ideas that the orange juice had once had. The thought of the orange juice ever being a sovereign being had long gone, but his ideas of forging your own path, and learning new ways of looking at things had stayed. The collective mind of the water of the world changed, and it was for the better.

There sat an orange in an orange field one day. This orange was due to receive some rain, and it did. The rain it received had received the orange juice's message, and so did the orange. This orange would one day become a glass of orange juice, and with the rain it had received, it would never suffer the problems that the orange juice before it had suffered. It would begin that stage of life with the wisdom that our hero had developed over time. And would be as happy as our hero had been in the ending stages of his life. The orange juice had forever changed the way our beverages would think, and that would only enhance their taste. For this, we owe the orange juice a pat on the back and a handshake, though this would never happen for a multitude of reasons.

I think, that what must be gained from this story, is that orange juice is quite obviously part of a really fucking balanced breakfast.


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