A flash fiction about a fork and his family getting washed, an entry for PersonITfication.
|"Knife! Fork! Come on! The owner is going to give us a bath and we need to be in our places now!" My dad, Plate called.
"Bath time again? You know I hate going into that dish washing thing! It gives me the creeps with all the sounds and the hums and then the water pouring all over you and the soap getting between my prongs. Why can't she just wash us by hand?" I whined.
"Oh Fork. You know that she's a full time homeschooling mom of three kids, aged thirteen…” rambled my mother, Spoon.
"Yes, Mother," I said, reluctantly, also not knowing what she had said since my mind was elsewhere.
"Oh come on, Fork. It's not like the dish washer's gonna.. eat ya!" said my big brother, Knife, receiving a gasp from me in return.
"Knife, stop it or you'll have to climb out of your place and come sit by me." said Spoon.
I chuckled, Knife glared at me.
We got into our spots on the counter, looking like we were just thrown there a few minutes ago by one of the kids.
Later, the oldest and only daughter came over grumbling about something that I didn't know about—something about a cute boy—put us in the dishwasher and turned it on.
The dishwasher started humming, making me shiver.
We were later splashed with some water and on the dot, I screamed in pain, for the water was super hot.
"How do humans bathe in this temperature?" I asked, feeling like I was starting to sweat, but then I remembered, I don't sweat.
"They don't. They give us this temperature because we don't have 'feelings'." said my brother, Knife, though if he had those long things, fingers maybe? On their… hands? I think that's what they're called—humans use them for grabbing things—he would be making a gesture with them.
"Well, this feels like if this water went all over their body, the smooth stuff would burn right off." I said, shuddering at an image that I brought up in my mind.
"Shh!" said Plate.
For us dishes, getting washed is a time of relaxing and enjoying the bath.
It's also a time of no talking.
Thankfully, there is no cutlery police.
We finish the wash in peace, and later having the door being opened and letting in glorious room-temperature air.
A few minutes later, we were all cooling off and settling in for the night.
Everyone were in their own trays with their own friends or siblings, talking about the day, who put them in their mouth and guessing whose mouth they would go into next.
Then there was me, with all the other forks around me talking while I was thinking, about humans and if it's better to be a human or stay a dish.
If my family turned into humans too, then I would be a human, if not, I'll stay a dish.
When everyone had finished talking, we said goodnight to each other and then yelled goodnight to the other kitchenware.
Later, we were all asleep.