"I Keep my Happiness in a Plastic Bottle" by Suzannah Carrick

I keep my happiness in a plastic bottle.  The lid is screwed on tight so that none of it can dance away.  It sits on my mantelpiece, sparkling mother-of-pearl-like, so glutinous and creamy.  My hate I keep in a jam jar, labelled with a magic marker so I don’t spread it on my toast.  This jar belongs in my cereal cupboard, and is stuck to the wall with selotape – I am determined to foil its plans of escape.  My hate is purple, like royalty, and forms glinting nuggets the size of eyeballs.  And my interest and excitement is gold.  It waits in a pan on my stove, liquid dream with mists of inspiration skating its surface, constantly moving and rearranging.

            Today, I am making a brew.  In a trailing mauve skirt and wintry blue blouse, I am attired for the occasion.  Miss Mary Tilney, about to unleash emotion upon an unsuspecting public.  I laugh at the beautiful prospect and pull a crystal box towards me.  It sparkles blandly, the materialistic trash.  Next time, I always tell myself, I will use a box spun of wishes and desires and revenge.  But for now I’ll make do with the £10.99 from Argos, polystyrene packaged, tack.

            I ladle in a droplet or so of excitement and interest, I squirt in a quick blast of happiness and, out of sheer spite, plop in a whole eyeball of hate.  Ha haa!  I’ll make the runts’ lives a misery.  How amusing that will be.