I have this jar.
It’s an old pickle jar. The once bright lid is tarnished and faded, the scarlet words standing out against the mustard yellow background. The glass shines in the light, throwing rainbows and shadows across the room. I had written on it in sharpie, a long time ago, but the words are all but gone now. So much for permanent markers.
I fill the jar with coins. I love the sound they make when they hit the ridged bottom with a twinkly ‘plink!’ Sometimes, for fun, I’d spill them all out and pick out the foreign ones, because I knew the coin machine wouldn’t take them. I loved how you could fill up that whole jar with coins, guess how much it’d be, and the machine would always spit out more than your hypothesis.
But now it’s just a jar with a couple coins sitting at the bottom. And whenever I need some extra change, the jar becomes empty.
What will we amount to? I feel like this is what we’re doing, you and me. Filling up our jar only to empty it, over and over. When will the jar be full? When will we be able to take it to the grocery store, feel anxious joy as we spill the coins into the slot, revel in the amount getting higher and higher on the screen? We make progress, only to lose it again.
There’s this game I play.
It’s called Cubefield. It’s also extremely addicting.
You dodge little colored squares, as if you’re driving, but if you hit one—too bad! Game’s over. We’re like that, you and me. Playing this game, going a little longer each time, only to lose it all only slightly further than before. Then hitting the ‘start’ button because, now, you’re addicted, and can’t stop, even though you know you’ll lose. It’s inevitable.
So where are we going with this? Make your move. Are you the queen or a pawn?
What will we amount to? Because if the answer is, “D: Nothing”, I don’t know how much longer I can play this game.
