Afterhours Junkfood

Afterhours Junkfood

by Royce Sears

The lights went out as the last employee left the grocery store. Long moments passed before
anything happened, then the Pringles cans shifted and hopped off their shelves.
“Ahh, it feels good to stretch. I thought they’d never leave.”
The bags of Fritos leapt from their shelves to join the Pringles cans. “Yep, sure does feel good, though I don’t see how you can stretch much in that can,” they snickered.
“Oh, look, the cheap chips decided to join us. You’re just half-full bags of air. What would you know?”
“Hey guys, relax, chill out… Why’s everything always gotta be so intense ‘round here anyway? We’re all just potato chips of one kind or another,” the bags of Cheetos chimed in.
“Speak fer yerselves, we ain’t no salty chips,” the bottles of Mountain Dew called from their perch high upon the shelves, “just pure mountain goodness right here.”
“Yeah, but the Pringles have always thought they were better than us, just because they come in a can and they have that weird shape,” the Funyuns said as they joined the potato chip party on the floor of the grocery store.
“Can’t we all just get along, man?” said the Cheetos.

The Pringles cans rolled away from the rest, “The whole lot of you are nothing but uncultured junk foods, and when you can explain the meaning of hyperbolic paraboloid or you too were designed by a supercomputer, feel free to speak to us. Until then, piss off!”

This story was based upon an image much like the one above as part of a flash fiction writing challenge.