Old Crisps

OLD_CRISPS
by ali shaw

When I am young, a fancy takes me to save a packet of crisps from my
early teens and eat them when I am old and grey. Locking the crisps in
a safe, the thought of them is the only thing that keeps me striving
through the dragging years of my uneventful life. When my wife dies, I
know that I still have my crisps to look forward to. I think that it is
good to give oneself to someone, to give oneself to something.

On my eighty first birthday, feeling ill and tired of life, I potter
about in the sunny yellow garden, and then sit down with my safe. My
shaking hands and weakling wrists find it difficult to turn the solid
handle , but I manage, and the crackling of the packet as I tear it
open brings back the sounds and memories of happier days.

All of the crisps are infested with mould and cockroaches, but I eat
them anyway, dying soon afterwards from the choking and the poison of
time. It doesn't matter anyway, I have nothing left to live for.