Pickle Redemption

By Juda Maha 😜

Cobwebs cover the corners of my lonely prison walls. I slowly rise from my brittle bed. My orange jumpsuit is 5 times too big for me. A guard walks up to my cell, holding a small key. He puts it in the lock and twists it. He pulls out handcuffs and puts them on my wrists. They’re meant for adult sized hands, so when I point my hands to the floor they fall. The guard grunts, and shoves his massive hand into his pocket, pulling out a smaller set of handcuffs. He shoves me out of my cell and into the large halls. He slowly walks me into the cafeteria, and everyone goes silent. He unlocks my handcuffs and nudges me into the room. It goes deathly silent, and the other prisoners freeze like a deer in the headlights. I can hear someone whisper something to their lunch-mate. “That’s the kid who killed people with a sandwich,” one of them whispers. I slowly turn my head towards them, staring daggers at them. They slowly scoot away, trembling. I sit down at an empty table at the corner of the room. A prison worker carefully puts a tray of food down in front of me. I look down. It’s a pickle sandwich. 

 

The only people who can see or make a pickle sandwich are my followers. I look up. The man stares at me with eyes as wide as dinner plates. He slowly mouths a sentence. “Do it.” I smirk at the thought. I’ve suppressed my urges to kill for a long time. I already have 7 life sentences. What’s a couple more? It wouldn’t matter anyways. I’ll die before I reach my second life sentence.  “Hey, everyone!” I shout. The entire cafeteria looks to me, eyes big and wet. I stand on the table, and I hold the pickle sandwich out for all to see. I close my eyes and turn away, expecting carnage to follow. When I open my eyes, everyone is slumped over. My kills aren’t red, so the cafeteria is bloodless. The only person who remains is the man who provided me with the sandwich. “My name is Felix Philoganason. We have a suspicion that your sandwich could possibly cure world hunger. I’ll get you out of prison if you follow me,” he says, in a matter-of-factly tone. I weigh my options. I don’t want to cure world hunger but getting out of prison may be nice. “Is there anything else in it for me?” I ask. “We will pay you 78 million dollars,” he says. My eyes instantly light up at the offer. “78 million?” I ask, with a grin bigger than earth itself. “It’s a deal,” I say. I shake his hand. He gestures to follow him. I can hear the shuffling of the prison guards as we flee into the kitchen. “Quickly, up the vent!” he shouts. He jumps upwards and latches on to something inside of the large vent. I look up and see a rickety ladder. I grab onto it and hoist myself up. The vent is dusty and empty. Once I climb the ladder, I must crawl the rest of the vent. Every time I move as much as a muscle, the vent echoes. I crawl as fast as I can. Mr. Philoganason is quite faster than me, but eventually I reach the end. He breaks the vent cover, revealing the outside world. He crawls out of the vent and plummets down, rather foolishly. Scared my ticket out might be dead, I peak my head out of the vent. Right below me is a large at fluffy looking mattress. I sigh and jump out of the vent. The impact stings a bit, but it doesn’t break any of my bones. I get up and look around. Certainly, an upgrade to the drab prison walls. “How long have you been planning this?” I ask. “6 months.” Suddenly, a loud chopping noise can be heard from the sky. I look up, confused. A UFO descends and lands on the grass. When it lands, someone gets out. A green alien, with a small nametag. It reads, “Bobby.”  Bobby the Alien. 

“Get in,” he says with a slight accent. I follow his instructions, incredibly confused. I sit down in the alien’s passenger’s seat. The sliding door closes, and the chopping noise starts up again. Mr. Philoganason sits next to me. “How did you find this out?” I ask. 

“We found the body of a Pro-Pickle Extremist. His body was donated for the pickle sandwich research fund by his family. When we dissected the body, we found an odd substance in his stomach. We studied the substance further, and we found substances that will make you full forever. We found that the substance is the exact same one that can be found in a pickle sandwich. This is where our friend Bobby the Alien comes in. Bobby the Alien has two inventions that we think may be able to help greatly. The Duplicatorinator, the Largebaginator, and the Blindfoldinator. We will use the Blindfoldinator to blindfold everyone on earth that cannot get access to good food or any food easily. This is because, as you should know the pickle sandwich is dangerous to the brain. We believe that if the subject is blindfolded, their brain may be able to withstand the effects of the pickle sandwich. This is because studies have found that pickle-sandwich related deaths are mostly caused by something triggered in the brain, causing the brain the freak out and basically die. The Blindfoldinator will also make every hungry person in the city rush to the capital, so we don’t have to journey a whole country. The Largebaginator will be used for easier transport. It will be used for separating the pickle sandwiches into large, carriable groups. This will make the processes of feeding people as quick and efficient as possible. The Blindfoldinator is specifically designed using mind control techniques that will make the person not want to take off their blindfold and will remain calm. Luckily your pickle sandwich has no distinct smell, so nobody will know they are eating it. We will use the Duplicatorinator to duplicate enough Pickle sandwiches to feed the entire world. We need to travel to Bobby’s home planet, Lalooine. Bobby has developed the fastest ship known to mankind, so we should be there in a few seconds.” I look out the window, revealing a planet completely composed of ice. It slowly gets bigger and bigger, until I can see mountains of the surface. Eventually we land. The landscape is beautiful, an icy wonderland. Infront of us is a small hut. “You will all freeze to death if you were to be exposed with the harsh cold of my planet. So, I will be venturing alone,” Bobby says. He presses a button, and a titanium wall falls between us and Bobby. I hear a few footsteps, then the sound of viscous winds. I can see him slowly trudge out of the space craft, almost being pushed away by the wind. I get a little bit cold just thinking of it. Dr. Philoganason sits patiently, his hands in his lap. “How did you survive witnessing the pickle sandwich?” I ask, genuinely curious. I assume he’s pro-pickle, but most pro-picklists go head over heels for me. All he’s done is tell me what’s what. “Me and all the other scientists on this mission have been through extensive pickle sandwich exposure. I had to eat seven of them. It was disgusting, but I managed. I was one of the only surviving scientists. Everyone else died trying. If you’re wondering why I gave you your first pickle sandwich in a while, I had ulterior motives. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but I knew you wouldn’t take the deal without a prize. I’ve done extensive research on you. I know you wouldn’t have taken my offer if I just presented you with the chance to escape.” I nod my head, just a little bit creeped out at how this man knows so much about me. By the time he’s done talking, Bobby has entered the ship again. He mutters something in his native language, and the ship boots up. The small ship floats off the surface and descends into the vast void that is space. The ship shoots towards earth, flying faster than the speed of light. Earth gets closer by the passing second, and soon we’re close enough to land. The ship lands in front of an air hanger. Bobby presses the button again, and the titanium wall retracts. I step out of the spaceship, and the blistering sun greets me. “Follow me,” Bobby says. He walks towards the air hanger with his inventions in his hands. They’re almost bigger than Bobby himself. He presses another button. The large hanger door shoots up, revealing a myriad of soldiers. They stand patiently, waiting for a task. Bobby walks into the hanger and places his inventions on a table. The soldiers instantly snap their heads towards Bobby and stand still. I walk up next to Bobby. The soldiers instantly recognize me. I can tell some of them are scared. “Mr. Maha, we need you to make a pickle sandwich.” My eyes widen. It’s been so long since I’ve actually made a pickle sandwich. A soldier approaches me and puts the ingredients on the table. My hands tremble as I pick up the cheese. I put it on the bread, making sure to align it perfectly. Next are the pickles. I take the fork I was provided with and stab a few pickles. I move them to the bread, and the drip a few droplets onto the table. I place the pickles into a triangle arrangement and place the last piece of bread on to complete the sandwich. I step away and admire my masterpiece. Even though I’m not making it to kill, I still get some satisfaction from it. Bobby holds the Duplicatorinator to the sandwich, and gestures for the soldiers to leave. They march out of the hanger, and I eagerly await the results of the Duplicatorinator. Bobby turns a dial and pulls the trigger. A burst of yellow, white and green bursts into the air, sending me flying back. When I open my eyes, pickle sandwiches have completely littered the hanger. The soldiers slowly march from behind the hanger, and I watch as there eyes light up in awe. Bobby then picks up the Blindfoldinator, but this time he points it to the sky. When he pulls the trigger, it appears as if nothing has happened. “Trust me, it worked,” he says. I nod my head. Dr. Philoganason has stepped out of Bobby’s spaceship and is calling someone. About 5 minutes later, a fleet of large aircrafts land next to the hanger. Bobby then picks the Largebaginator and presses a button on it. In an instant, the sandwiches are transported into 7 ginormous bags. Some of the soldiers go to the back of the hanger. When they come back, they are riding a massive forklift. They drive up to one of the bags and lifts it onto the forklift. They then drive to one of the aircrafts and place the massive bag into the back of it. They repeat these processes until the hanger is empty again. “How are they going to fly with so much stuff in the back? Won’t the pickle sandwiches weigh the aircraft down?” I ask. “You haven’t developed ships that can do just that and be fine?” Bobby shakes his head and walks into the cockpit of one of the ships. He beckons me, and I follow suite. “I’m leading the fleet since I know my ships the best,” he explains. He presses a button on the dashboard and the aircraft floats up high into the air. “Our first stop is Bolivia. Each bag can feed three countries so our second stop will be Chad, and our final stop will be India. The aircraft rockets away from the hanger and towards the west of us. I look down. The cities below me look like toy models. We continue to rocket towards Bolivia, and only after a few minutes we land. I look at Bobby, in awe about his intellect. We slowly drop down to the ground and into a bustling street. Everyone below us runs off to the side. I can see there pitch-black blindfolds even from here. Bobby steps out of the craft and walks to the back of the ship. I also walk out and look around. People are relatively calm. It seems that Dr. Philoganason was correct. A group of soldiers emerges from the aircraft. Bobby grunts, and I look to the trunk of the aircraft. He’s placed the big bag onto the floor. He then cuts the top open, and the pickle sandwiches spew out onto the ground. Not the most sanitary method, but the pros outweigh the cons. The soldiers march to the pile, and one by one pick a sandwich up and feed it to a citizen. Bobby follows suite, and so do I. I locate the nearest person I can find and bring them a sandwich. I slightly poke him with the sandwich. He looks around, confused. “Food,” I say. His eyebrows raise, and he opens his hands. I place the sandwich in his hands, and he brings it up to his mouth. His mouth contorts into a frown, but he swallows it. Me, Bobby and the soldiers repeat this processes until the bag is a third. It only took a few weeks. On the final Friday, Bobby stuffs the bag into the trunk and steps into the ship. While we fly, I am left alone with my thoughts. It’s hard to believe that I’m doing something good right now. Me a few years ago would’ve hated that. And I mean, I don’t mind that. It’s a good feeling. I guess in prison I had a lot of time away from killing. My previous mindset kind of wore off. But has it? I killed a whole cafeteria full of people. Why did I kill them? Was it the fun of it? Was it because it’s been so long, and I felt like I had too? Or maybe it’s just because I don’t change. I’m a monster, no doubt about it. But have I changed? If I really have changed, I wouldn’t have killed that cafeteria. And it’s not like I’m doing this for any noble cause. I did it for the money. I sigh and look out the window. The sky is a dark blue. “The other ships have finished their first country,” he says. “We’re almost at the capital of Chad, N’Djamena,” Bobby says. True to his word, we land on a dirt path, a large amount of people are standing around us. But when I step out, something is wrong. A group of Caucasian people in bright t-shirts run up to us, a stark contrast to the natives. They don’t look pleased. They stop, about 6 feet away from us. “This is for all of your victims,” one of them says in a cold voice. One of them, run ups to me and pushes something into my stomach. I stumble backwards, the thing still in my stomach. My previously white shirt has turned red. I fall to the ground, my eyes as wide as saucers. I can’t say I didn’t deserve it.  In fact, this is better for everyone. I hope they don’t kill anyone else. But I know they won’t. They only wanted me. Bobby never killed anyone.