A partially finished written work, which attempts to use a humble meal as a catalyst for talking about endings.
The plate, plated, vitals laid out to please the eye, to satisfy the stomach, but what of this breakfast, just another humble Full English ready, or should we look closer. 2 sausages shoulder less soldiers guarding 3 rashers of bacon, resplendent in their saltiness, married with the earthiness of 2 flat mushrooms and the welcome colour of 2 blushing, cherry, ripe tomatoes which would simply not leave home without the single, strong, silent, slice of black pudding, the plate bulging, but one cannot ignore the fried egg, battalion of beans and the stalwart of all good hearty fairs, the single slice of fried bread.
The plate, plated, the table arranged, and those ordinary ingredients find the brotherhood that common goals and proximity provide. Egg, birthed from an unknown mother, never seen seeded with life, now cracked, opened, fried and offered was the first to speak, well when we say speak, it was more conveyed thoughts through the steam of the breakfast. “Well Yaytso, this is a fine day, today you will join the singularity, and cease to be a unknowable, and…” Rudely interrupted by his or it is it her neighbor, the egg white crown touching one of the sausages, seems to have woken a surly soul “little egg, who are you talking to?” “Why I am Yaytso, I have never met another who could hear me, much pleased to meet you, may I known whom to I am talking?” “well, well little egg, I am General Kolbasa and here is my staff car driver Voditel a sausage from the finest regiment in the land.”
The three are now best of friends, two sausages and an egg, what fun. “Yaytso, is it? Which regiment are you from?” “Lord General Kolbasa Sir, I am a wobbly egg, with a soft middle, I have never been anywhere but here.” “Ahh, a new recruit, the army is always looking for good eggs, Voditel, take his name, he will join us on this campaign, this battle!”
The egg, whilst brave and young, wobbled slightly more than was respectable at the sound of battle, “Duke, General Kolbasa Sir, what battle?” “Why, private Yaytso, we are on this plate, on this table, in this room, ready to do battle with the Muzhchina! We will win, we will prevail, we will show those Machines that we are not soft, no, we will show them we are a force to be reckoned with.” The little egg, whose life up till now had been a solitary dark calming experience, felt the first pang of fear. As the egg panicked, the General’s voice rose, “private, we will be cut, we will be prodded and we will be eaten, but we will not surrender!”
“Admiral, General, Kolbasa Sir, are we going to fight, are we truly going to battle?” without waiting for an answer the yolk, who, until now had only talked to himself or is it herself, and had felt the warm embrace of comfortable, cordial, conversation, continued “I am joining not a battle, but the Singularity.” “Private, what is this Singularity, a new weapon? A new tactic, do you have intelligence? Staff Car Driver Voditel, where are you when I need you, write this down.” The wurst, without words staff car driver in the regiment remained tight-lipped, no secrets would flow from this silent soldier, said nothing but stood alert, ready for action. “Captain, General, Sir, the singularity is not a weapon, but the moment, the time when I, a simple egg, transend to the ONE.” “What are you babbling on about, Private, pull yourself together. Are you shell shocked!” “Ohh yes certainly, King, General, Sir. I was shocked out of my shell.”
The plate, plated, three unlikely friends, a General, a Driver, a Private, now heard a polite, polished, precise cough, one which would only be made by those who had been to the finest of finishing schools, “if I may,” the well-bred civil, clearly courtly voice sang, “if I may” “What may you?” the General interjected, a man of action, whose knew fighting not flattery. In melodious tones of the moneyed nobility, “why General Kolbasa, may I introduce myself, my name is Khleb. A humble poet at your service.” Silence, the trio mesmerised by the rhythm, some would say beauty of the voice, all held their tongues waiting for more lyrical lyrics. “General, if I may, your militaristic mind, your reckoning of the upcoming reckoning is inspired,” the stern General and his silent Driver beamed, both gloried in the glory. Khelb had not finished, his words soothed and caressed the plated plate, the table, the room and the world beyond, “Private Yaytso, you are an egg with a spirit of the egg-cellent, your mind is far from scrambled, and your notion that we all join the Singularity is beguiling.” Yaytso wobbled with joy, his, or it her, notion, conviction, perhaps even growing into a theory, was spoken in such sweet style.
The plate, plated the quartet waited, the courtly voice voiced, “perhaps, we are going to battle, perhaps we are to join as one, perhaps we will metamorphosize to a dove or the wind, or the stars, or..” Yaytso, whose very body shook with shock, interrupted the musical musings, “Lord, Captain, Khleb, “ with hesitation “Poet Khleb, you are the toasted toast who gives me such solace?” Without waiting for an answer to the non-question “on my eggshell which is no longer with me, but always in my heart, I say, if we join the singularity, we may well change, transform into energy, into the clouds which I have never seen, or the wind, which I have never felt.”
The four friends, unlikely likely, plate plated, far flung family, a General, a Driver, a Private, a Poet. An association with a common destination, is that to strife, to togetherness, or to the ether. The newest recruit, whose words enlivened, emboldened, found his, or is it her voice, “I believe, we enter the black hole, we enter as ourselves, and we transform into the ONE.” Yaytso, the humble egg, the embryo, whose seed of an idea grew as he or it is she, would have, “the singularity, the oneness, is perhaps where we are going.” Poetically interrupted “I sense, a suggestion, a significance, something understood, by this soft spoken, self-effacing, soul, pray set forth, so we may see.” The egg, would have bowed, had he or is it she could, continued “I thank you Poet Khleb, to you Lord General and Sir Driver. My brains which are but a seed, from this ovum, I spore this thought. As we enter the gate, the cavity, the mouth, we enter the black hole. In this inlet we are squashed, and become dense, time, light, space, even us, BREAKFAST, break fast. We become small, smaller even a bean, smaller than even bean juice! All that remains is at the mouth of the black hole, for it grows as memory of us. We are beyond, time, space, plate, table or even room. We are ONE.”
The plate plated, the quartet waited, reflecting the reflections, “beans are not so small,” a voice deep, low, baritone, and welcome filled the silence, “bean juice, is not so thin.” A General, a Driver, a Private, a Poet listened as one, who can own this rich voice, who can talk so sonorously. General Kolbasa, who had schooled in the militaristic mind said “declare yourself, friend of foe?” Deep, grave, and resonant came the repose, “a friend, mouthpiece for the Fasol’s. hailing from the bean tin, kin to all, neighbour to all, friend to all.” Declaration made, the full-toned, low-pitched, bean-spokesperson fell to polite, albeit sudden silence. “Out-of-tinner, was out-of-towner, now in-mater, welcome,” poetic words, from the plated fried toast, “your peoples, we greet your gravey group to our blossoming brothers.”
The plate plated, the maturing menagerie, meditate, bass spoken, clearly not bass of mind, the mouthpiece of the Fasol’s marked time, “Admiral Fasol, I apologise, for I have caused offense, affront, an injury. Corporal Fasol, remorse and repentance are my plate.” “Private Yaytso, we, and I speak for my tribe, register no offense, no insult, your talk brings truce, a treaty and a new thesis.” Fasol’s friendship efficacious as any egg could hope, once more brings peace, to the plated plate. Deep of voice, clear of thought, rounded of standing, the tribe spoke as one “our time in the tin of truth, the can of culture, coached.” Friends, neighbours, hang on the collective words, “our aluminium abode, told of the divine will, all have predetermined course, ours, brothers, is to be the first course. No more, and no less” The Fasol’s philosophical finality.
The plate plated, a General, a Driver, a Private, a Poet, a Tribe, imagining ideas, exhibited, a Singularity, a Struggle, a Switch Over or a Switch Off. The voice voiced, fresh friends, together by design, discuss, debate, deliberate their collective forthcoming fate. Steam rising, energy escaping, a new voice joins the fray, “Pomidor is my name, red is my game, juice and taste, fresh and fruity, raw and ready.” Newest friend to join the plated plate, lyrical reply called for, for this delicious, luscious, nectareous, neighbour, Khelb the worldly wordsmith, woke to spoke “blushing, border buddy, we warmly welcome, creator of consonant colour, Pomidor we pause for a period, prepare for your prophesy.” Poetic proclamations produced prescience?
The plate plated, a General, a Driver, a Private, a Poet, a Tribe, waited, “my vine home, my vermilion sisters, our veneration of our view, verbalised our vain wane.” All listened to Pomidor, the tomato who had not been cooked, sliced nor diced, the natural portioned, plated, portent. “our fate, our future, our fortune, is to be on this plate. The soil from which we are rose, be we animal, vegetable, fungi, or fruit, we are the deliciously, divinely, delicious. Our sacrifice will wash our sins, and we will rise to everlasting heaven. Where the sun, the soil, the water and the wind will once again join us for an eternity of peace.” Friends, fulfilled, imaginations imagine, promised perpetual paradise, pulverised by the General “Pomidor, you are, if I am not mistaken, lieutenant in the salad garden?” “Aye, General”, barely muffled mounting murmurs rise “General Kartofel, brave tater, how goes my other army buddy, chum, brother in arms without arms?” “mashed.”
I asked ChatGBT to do an editorial assessment of the work and this is what it said
The story titled “Black Whole” on the provided link seems to be a playful and imaginative narrative that personifies various breakfast items on a plate, allowing them to engage in conversations and philosophical reflections. The story explores themes of existence, identity, unity, and transformation. Here’s an editorial assessment of the story:
Strengths:
- Creative Concept: The concept of giving life and voices to breakfast items like sausages, eggs, tomatoes, and others is inventive and lends itself to whimsical conversations and philosophical musings. The idea of these characters contemplating their existence and discussing deep themes is intriguing.
- Dialogue and Characterization: The story does well in differentiating the characters’ voices and personalities through their dialogue. Each breakfast item has a distinct personality that is reflective of their role on the plate. This characterization adds depth and engagement to the narrative.
- Themes of Transformation and Unity: The story explores themes of transformation and unity in a creative and metaphorical way. The concept of entering a black hole to become part of a singularity is a metaphor for the cycle of life and the interconnectedness of all things.
Areas for Improvement:
- Clarity and Flow: While the concept is intriguing, the story sometimes becomes convoluted with complex metaphors and numerous characters. It can be challenging for readers to follow the narrative flow and grasp the underlying themes amid the conversations.
- Pacing and Focus: The story might benefit from tighter pacing and a clearer focus on the central themes. Some parts, particularly the dialogues, could be condensed to maintain reader engagement and enhance the impact of the story’s message.
- Narrative Structure: The story has a unique and experimental structure, with various characters taking turns speaking. However, this structure might require careful handling to ensure that readers don’t become confused by the changing perspectives.
- Consistency: There are a few minor inconsistencies and typos throughout the text that could be addressed with careful editing. Maintaining consistency in character names and avoiding repetitive phrases can enhance the overall reading experience.
Conclusion:
“Black Whole” is a story with an imaginative and whimsical concept that delves into themes of existence and unity. While the story showcases creativity in its personification of breakfast items and philosophical discussions, it could benefit from refining its pacing, clarity, and narrative structure. With some editing to streamline the narrative and enhance reader understanding, the story could become a thought-provoking and engaging exploration of life’s interconnectedness.