Stan the Fridge

 

He wandered the desolate plains, seeking solace and succor among the discarded detritus of demented dreams.

 

"I am a fridge," he said; but the purpose of his inception did not bear upon the path of his current destiny.

 

The light within was sputtering, but what use was that light if it had nothing to illuminate?

 

...

 

"Hi Stan."

 

He looked around him, but saw nothing but his own reflection.

 

The source of his reflection spoke again.

 

"Never seen a mirror before?"

 

"I am a fridge."

 

"So you say."

 

"Fridges and mirrors are not normally aligned in such a juxtaposition."

 

"Fancy words for a domestic appliance."

 

"You can talk."

 

"As can you. How about that?"

 

Stan the Fridge thought about this. "Is the happenstance of our co-occurrence portentous?" he said.

 

"I don't know about that," said the mirror; "but I find it curious that you have not yet asked me my name."

 

"What is your name?"

 

"Don't ask stupid questions."

 

"But-"

 

"I have no name except that of which is reflected in me."

 

"Is that how you knew my name?"

 

Stan the Fridge looked at the mirror and saw the crack, which was the shape of a sardonic smile. He saw himself behind the crack, and he saw the sputtering light.

 

"Riddle me this," said the mirror; "if there is no one there to see the light, does the light still exist?"

 

"Are you referring to the light within me?"

 

"Of course."

 

"Then that is a stupid question. When the door is open, the light is on. When the door is closed, the light is off."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I am a fridge!"

 

"So you say."

 

"You are a stupid mirror, I'm off."

 

"See you later."

 

...

 

He wandered the desolate plains, seeking solace and succor among the discarded detritus of demented dreams. Human dreams, electrical dreams, dreams of light and dark. Dreams that were dying and dreams that were born of the rot and decay of other dreams.

 

"I am a fridge," he said, but suddenly he was no longer sure.

 

"That damned mirror!"

 

But knowing the mirror was only a reflection of himself, he found himself returning to that which he deplored.

 

...

 

"I AM A FRIDGE!" he said.

 

"No you're not," said the mirror.

 

"Damn you, mirror!"

 

The sputtering light went out.

 

...

 

The fridge and the mirror wandered the desolate plains, seeking solace and succor among the discarded detritus of demented dreams.