The Ballad of Salty… A Dill-icious Affair
The refrigerator hummed with a low, vibrating electricity that could only be described as anticipatory. Salty sat in his jar, third shelf from the bottom, marinating in a brine that was equal parts vinegar, dill, and existential dread. He was a cucumber of distinct girth and curvature, proud of his bumps, what the harvesting brochure called "texture " but what Salty knew to be pure, unadulterated character.
He was pressed up against the glass, his skin glistening with a sheen of preserved juices. He watched the door swing open, and the light spilled in like a spotlight at a cheap burlesque show.
"God, look at that," whispered Gary, a half eaten jar of sweet relish on the lower shelf. "He’s doing it again. The pose."
Salty ignored him. He stiffened his spine or at least, as much as a pickled vegetable can stiffen. He was waiting for Her. The Giantess. The one with the hands that could warm him to his core.
The door opened fully. The light was blinding. And then, She appeared. The Giantess, her face looming like a harvest moon, blocked out the glare of the kitchen bulb. Her eyes scanned the shelves, bypassing the kale (too bitter) and the leftovers of casserole (too sad). She wanted something zesty. Something crunchy. Something with bite.
Salty thrust himself forward, pressing his seeds against the glass. "Pick me," he thought, projecting his psychic message as hard as he could. "I’m the crispest one here. I snap with authority."
Her hand, warm and damp from the washing of dishes, reached for the jar. Salty’s heart or his fibrous equivalent skipped a beat. The lid twisted. The seal broke with a pop that sounded like a champagne cork at a divorce party.
Release.
The smell of dill and garlic wafted out, a perfume that Salty knew drove the humans wild. She reached in. Her fingers brushed against him. It was electric. It was overwhelming. It was wet.
"Oh, yeah," Gary muttered from the shadows. "Get some, Salty."
The Giantess wrapped her fingers around Salty’s midsection. It was a firm grip, possessive yet tender. She lifted him from his briny bath, droplets of his own juices dripping down his sides like sweat after a heavy workout. The air of the kitchen hit his skin, a sudden, shocking chill that made him tingle all over.
She held him up to her face, inspecting him. She turned him over in her hands, admiring his warts, his ridges, his unique shade of radioactive green.
"Perfect," she murmured.
She raised him to her lips. Salty quivered. This was it. The moment he had been fermenting for since he was a mere sprout in the dirt.
She opened her mouth. It was a cavern of pink warmth, a wet and waiting paradise. She took him in, just the tip at first, teasing him with a flick of her tongue. The salt on his skin mingled with the salt of her taste buds. It was a collision of flavors, a symphony of sodium.
Then, she bit down.
Crunch.
It wasn't pain, it was ecstasy. He shattered between her teeth, releasing his inner essence in an explosion of tart, garlicky flavor. He felt himself being consumed, becoming one with the Giantess. He was no longer just a pickle in a jar, he was sustenance. He was flavor. He was love.
As he dissolved into the abyss of her swallow, Salty had one final thought: It’s a good life, but it’s way too short.
OH LOOK WHOS BACK AGAIN, THAT SQUIRREL 🐿
!!
Gotta go 😁😂
He was pressed up against the glass, his skin glistening with a sheen of preserved juices. He watched the door swing open, and the light spilled in like a spotlight at a cheap burlesque show.
"God, look at that," whispered Gary, a half eaten jar of sweet relish on the lower shelf. "He’s doing it again. The pose."
Salty ignored him. He stiffened his spine or at least, as much as a pickled vegetable can stiffen. He was waiting for Her. The Giantess. The one with the hands that could warm him to his core.
The door opened fully. The light was blinding. And then, She appeared. The Giantess, her face looming like a harvest moon, blocked out the glare of the kitchen bulb. Her eyes scanned the shelves, bypassing the kale (too bitter) and the leftovers of casserole (too sad). She wanted something zesty. Something crunchy. Something with bite.
Salty thrust himself forward, pressing his seeds against the glass. "Pick me," he thought, projecting his psychic message as hard as he could. "I’m the crispest one here. I snap with authority."
Her hand, warm and damp from the washing of dishes, reached for the jar. Salty’s heart or his fibrous equivalent skipped a beat. The lid twisted. The seal broke with a pop that sounded like a champagne cork at a divorce party.
Release.
The smell of dill and garlic wafted out, a perfume that Salty knew drove the humans wild. She reached in. Her fingers brushed against him. It was electric. It was overwhelming. It was wet.
"Oh, yeah," Gary muttered from the shadows. "Get some, Salty."
The Giantess wrapped her fingers around Salty’s midsection. It was a firm grip, possessive yet tender. She lifted him from his briny bath, droplets of his own juices dripping down his sides like sweat after a heavy workout. The air of the kitchen hit his skin, a sudden, shocking chill that made him tingle all over.
She held him up to her face, inspecting him. She turned him over in her hands, admiring his warts, his ridges, his unique shade of radioactive green.
"Perfect," she murmured.
She raised him to her lips. Salty quivered. This was it. The moment he had been fermenting for since he was a mere sprout in the dirt.
She opened her mouth. It was a cavern of pink warmth, a wet and waiting paradise. She took him in, just the tip at first, teasing him with a flick of her tongue. The salt on his skin mingled with the salt of her taste buds. It was a collision of flavors, a symphony of sodium.
Then, she bit down.
Crunch.
It wasn't pain, it was ecstasy. He shattered between her teeth, releasing his inner essence in an explosion of tart, garlicky flavor. He felt himself being consumed, becoming one with the Giantess. He was no longer just a pickle in a jar, he was sustenance. He was flavor. He was love.
As he dissolved into the abyss of her swallow, Salty had one final thought: It’s a good life, but it’s way too short.
OH LOOK WHOS BACK AGAIN, THAT SQUIRREL 🐿
!!
Gotta go 😁😂
