“Those Little Red Jelly Things”
by Jamie Alliotts
“So, then, why so many expectations?”
“I enjoy disappointment.”
“You enjoy disappointment? Why?”
“I hate surprise.”
“Let’s discuss creative writing for a moment.”
“Do you have an ashtray?”
“There’s no smoking here, in this, emm…”
“Auditorium?”
“Sorry.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Sorry.”
“Yes. Anyway, let’s discuss–”
“Do you have any Swedish Fish?”
“Sorry?”
“Swedish Fish, the candy, those little red jelly things. You chew them, they stick in your teeth, you chew some more, they stick some more. You know, Swedish Fish.”
“No, I’m sorry. We don’t have any, ehhh, Swedish Fish.”
“I enjoy eating many at once.”
“Many at once?”
“No impulse control. I was born with it.”
“Is that right?”
“Is what right?”
“That you were born with little impulse control.”
“No.”
“No, you weren’t born–”
“No, no impulse control. Not little.”
“Oh. I see.”
“You see?”
“I think so.”
“So sometimes I have these nightmares.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sitting in this huge brown glass ashtray—like the one that used to rest atop my father’s desk in our basement at home—and so I’m sitting in this huge brown glass ashtray but in the middle of the ocean during a squall. Rain, lightning, wind shears, rogue waves, dancing tornadoes… the works.”
“What do you think it means?”
“In each of my hands is an ashtray, identical to the one I’m aboard, riding in—except smaller—and these ashtrays are filled with Swedish Fish.”
“Ashtrays! Filled with Swedish Fish!”
“I’m out of sight of land, and the storm is, well, storming, and it’s kind of obvious that I’m doomed, right?”
“Doomed. Right.”
“But because this is a dream, I’m aware that if I drop these two small ashtrays, my hands will then be free and I’ll be able to grab the oars and row safely to shore, even though this squall is raging all around me, I’m still out of sight of land, and there don’t seem to be any oars for me to grab.”
“No oars?”
“No, there are oars, it’s just that I can’t see them. I trust that they exist, but I can’t look away from my two little ashtrays else all these cute, delicious foreign fishies will somehow spill out into the ocean and, you know, vanish.”
“Do you mean drown, die?”
“No, I mean vanish. Candy can’t die. Candy is immortal.”
“Would you mind terribly if we discussed creative writing—just for a moment?”
“It’s a conundrum worth pondering, I admit, yet the nightmare still haunts me, even in sunlight, even on land, even when cathedral bells ring-out their complex sequences and draw the devout among us to flock and kneel and worship—and obey.”
“Please, may we please discuss creative writing?”
“But we are.”
“Name some of your influences.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Litter, ballerinas, the wind. Swedish Fish.”
“Mmhm. And how would you define creative writing?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because everything I say is of no value.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because everything everyone says is of no value. Besides, if I sit here describing creative writing to you, I would not be writing.”
“But you’re not sitting, you’re standing.”
“Am I?”
“Right here, now. On stage, in front of everyone.”
“Ah! Sorry.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Sorry.”
“Oh. I see.”
“You do?”
“Sorry, yes.”
“Tell me, what are some of the troubles you’ve faced as a writer?”
“Well, pants.”
“Pants?”
“Finding them, putting them on, keeping them on. It’s all very trying.”
“Please, would you– People are beginning to leave!”
“Shhh. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“A gust. Chimes, maybe. Ruins, crumbling.”
“Ruins.”
“Well, okay, I mean… I mean, okay, well… So… So… So… So sometimes I run out of candy.”
“And?”
“Sometimes. I run out of candy.”
“Sometimes… I think I understand.”
“You understand?”
“I believe I do.”
“Goodness.”
“Would you like a LifeSaver?”
“You have LifeSavers? Really?”
“Of course. And green, your favorite.”
“Of course– I mean, yeah, yes, please, sure– I’d love one– I mean, I’d love a LifeSaver. Green, you said? Really?”
“Green. Really.”
“Well. But I couldn’t.”
“You could. You can. And here you are.”
“A LifeSaver... Green… Wow!”
“Yes. Wow.”
“Thank you. Thank you very, very much.”
“You’re very, very welcome.”
“Do you have a light?”
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MORE ABOUT JAMIE ALLIOTTS
"A surreal, caliginous discourse involving the natures of language, discernment, mortality, more—and the sweetness and endurance of our swaddled yet perilous memories."
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Quote from Jamie Alliotts about his work,
"Those Little Red Jelly Things."
Jamie Alliotts is an award-winning playwright, photographer, and essayist from Oradell, New Jersey. His plays have been read and staged in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and New Orleans. His stories and photography appear in nearly a dozen literary journals, Bayou, Mouth, Cleaver, and Virginia Quarterly Review among them. Alliotts studied world literature & creative writing at Columbia, Dartmouth, Iowa, and the University of Oxford. He lives in Vermont with a mason jar named Fiammetta.