Cheese Ball Bruce

Once Upon A time there was a man who lived in a cheese balls packet. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want to live in a cheese ball packet; it just kind of happened.

This man was small, tiny, miniature, microscopic, about the size of my thumbnail (my thumbnail isn’t very big). Having lived in a cheese ball packet all his life, this man didn’t have a name, but I like to call him Bruce.

Bruce’s senses are not very efficient. Everywhere he goes (not that he really goes anywhere) the smell of artificial cheese powder overwhelms him. His vision is okay, but is limited to mostly the colour orange. His taste buds can only detect the taste of cheese, but fortunately, his hearing is perfect. Unfortunately, all he really hears is the sound of foil rustling whenever he takes a step. Bruce is living a very regrettable life.

Little does Bruce know, he is sitting on a supermarket shelf at this very minute. Not some weird little shelf in the center of the supermarket, but one of the fancy shelves that you see when you reach the checkout. The one with all the goodies and treats that you beg your Mum and Dad to get, but they always says “no.”

Well, one day a very rude and disobedient Mother went out shopping on her own, and the cheeky women bought her own packet of cheese balls, the greedy beast! So this women went home to find the house empty, left the groceries unpacked in the kitchen, sat on the couch and cracked open a bottle of Ginger Beer (to sum up her selfishness), flicked on the television and opened this particular packet of cheese balls.

At this moment Bruce was lying in between two cheese balls after having quite a similar feast to the one he had yesterday and the day before and so on. He lay down, licking cheese ball flavouring from his fingertips, rubbing his bursting stomach.

Meanwhile, the Mother was throwing cheese balls into her mouth and chewing loudly, bits of unidentifiable orange pieces flying out of her mouth and back into the packet like meteorites.
Bruce stared upwards, shielding his face from these disgusting pieces of food. He tried to find cover, but living in a cheese ball packet and all, it was not that easy. Manicured nails coated in orange, reached into the packet and fished around to find a squirming Bruce in the corner.

Without looking to her fingers, Bruce was thrown into her mouth, screaming with all his might, but because he was so small, even though his face was red with effort, you could hear nothing but the blaring of the television set. Bruce landed on her damp tongue, his yells now echoing throughout her jaw. Even though Bruce was clueless to the outside world, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that soon, the pearly white teeth would crunch down on him. In complete and utter panic, Bruce dived down this lady’s throat before her upper rows enclosed on him. This lady gagged, coughing and spluttering, while she clutched her throat, on her hands and knees in on the carpet. Suddenly, Bruce went flying out of her mouth and onto a table, a little shocked and covered in saliva.

He stood up a little uncertainly, peering at this world so different from the one he had lived all his years. Not knowing English, Bruce could not show any verbal celebration after escaping his near-death experience, but he punched his hand in the air, watching indifferently as the woman vomited on her expensive rug.

The front door abruptly burst open, revealing two boys in muddy soccer uniforms and a man in a business suit. Their eyes were as big as golf balls in shock when they put sight on the half-eaten cheese ball packet. They kicked and screamed, tears streaming down their cheeks, ignoring their pale-faced Mother as she put her head face-first into a puddle of her vomit.

“I knew I should have bought the Twisties” she thought glumly.