Bern on Nostr: Kidlet was tasked to "write a creative story" in their biochem class yesterday. ...

Kidlet was tasked to "write a creative story" in their biochem class yesterday. Didn't realise they would potentially have to read theirs out to the class, so they decided to have fun. 😆

I present to you:

'A Day in the Life of Yeast'

My name is Fungi Ascomycota Saccharomycetes Saccharomycetales Saccharomycetaceae Saccharomyces Cerevisiae. This morning I woke up in a dark container void of happiness or joy. I am a mere fungus, born to live out my life within these paper walls, piled atop my brethren like so many discarded parts. Here I came to life and here will I die.

Light slams into the retinas of my non-existent blue orbs and had I nerves or muscles I would flinch away from it. Instead I can do nothing as it sears every fibre of my very being. The world tilts, manipulated by some greater being, some gamemaster that designed my fate only to sell me off to the group of mediocre white boys with the absurdest sum of money. My petite frame slips from the hell of the packet and I am falling through the air – floating, for I am too light for even gravity to care about me.

I land among the looming forms of grains, mangled in preparation for us and towering above my tiny, 0.000005 metre frame. There is no oxygen around me, and I cannot breathe. Despite this, ravenous hunger hits me, and I begin to consume the grains around me in violent anaerobic respiration (actually its fermentation but I don’t expect anyone to care enough to know the difference), so violently that the other yeast particles shy away in shock despite their larger sizes. They begin to decompose with the force of my hunger and I am suddenly surrounded by sugars. I will not, cannot stop lest the overwhelming hunger consumes me. I continue, though I
choke on the bitter lack of air that is my fate.

Ethyl alcohol pools around me as I deconstruct the very substance of the grains that surround me, and sweet energy fuels my non-existent veins, spurring me on. I am flooded with the
ethanol, and yet, although my tiny frame seeks to float on the top of the fruits of my labours, I struggle with all my might downwards and continue to feast.

I did not notice it grow dark but now light pierces my poor, assaulted, nonextant blue orbs. My hard work, my alcohol, floods out through the hole in my newest prison, and now I am alone with the husks of the food I fermented. Now the ethyl alcohol will be consumed by many white boys who buy more teenage yeasts from their evil mothers, and I am discarded like old news.

#writing #microfic #tootfic