a short story
As soon as she woke her first thought was always which button to push.
She liked The Blue Button because that would dispense the blue pill which gave her a blue-sky way of looking at things. She’d settle back into her soft chair and imagine all the possibilities. That was good for half a day.
She liked the Green Button too because that pill made her feel fresh and she could run around and clean: Get all the food waste in the green bin, dishes in the dishwasher, laundry sorted, what needed to be presoaked, soaking. While the machines were going, she could shine the shiny surfaces, re-organize her drawers and then, once the laundry was done, iron smooth everything that could be ironed. She had a really good time. The green pill gave her a feeling of accomplishment that would last for two days.
The Black Button dispensed the black pill which made her sleep a deep, solid sleep that she knew she really, really, really, times ten to the power ten, needed. And sometimes that was good for a week.
She liked all the buttons. She liked all the pills.
She especially liked the Purple Button saved for special occasions and weekends because it dispensed the purple pill that made her see gods and goddesses and flowers taller than tall buildings and giant butterflies and herself as the beautiful creature that was made of pure love—The Pink Button, that dispensed the pink, silly-laughing pill for long chats with friends—the Checkered Button was for the checkered pill that made her smart so she could fix things and sell them on-line when she needed extra credit for shopping—she liked The Red Button because of the red pill, but she was shy so it was discretely hidden under her bed.
But then there was The Clear Button. She had never pushed it. She wasn’t sure why except it seemed more dangerous than anything she could ever do in her entire life, even more dangerous than going a whole day without pushing any buttons at all.
She thought, perhaps, maybe, she’d seen someone do this—push the clear button, but it was hard for her to think about because, whoever they were, they were gone. Simply vanished. As if some gigantic hand just swooped in and removed them.
No. She would not push the clear button.
She would push the Green Button.
After taking the green pill she re-potted her potted plants and she went on line and ordered more. Then she ordered a yoga matt, signed up for some on-line classes in meditation, donated to a charity and as soon as everything was delivered (rush) arranged all her new plants and the numerous bronze statues of various deities in front of the clear button until you could no longer see it. She felt a great sense of spiritual calm and accomplishment that lasted for two days. On the third day she pushed the black button.
A week later she woke and before getting out of bed, she thought about the clear button. She wished she could remember who it was that she had known who pushed it. It was like an itch in her brain. There was no pill to take care of the feeling. No button to push.
She sat up, swatting away the enormous fronds of greenery. She crawled under the low hanging foliage and arrived at the alter of the numerous deities and knocked them aside and found the clear button and pushed it.
And nothing happened.
There was no clear pill.
She just sat there.
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