A Conversation Between Two Bottles

“ I don’t think he loves us anymore,” chimed a clean, foxy, and lively voice.

“Of course he doesn’t, you bloody fool. He used us, now we’re empty and he is done. He never even needed us in the first place,” a smokey, aged, and blended voice grumbled in response.

“But he had to have loved us at some point.”

“And what makes you think that? He never loved us.” The sound of a man stumbling, and a cat hissing in the distance interrupts the conversation.

“Just look at what he gave up for us,” the clean, foxy, and lively voice lowers.

“He didn’t give anything up for us. He gave it up for himself. He cares about us as much as he cares about the rest of his life.”

“But he gave up the rest of his life for us,” the clean voice seems scared, distressed.

“Eh, he gave us up for the next ones to come along. We are empty, we’re nothing but garbage to him now. Just like how he got rid of everything else.”

“He couldn’t hate us, he kept us for a special occasion. We’ve been around the whole time. We were there for the divorce, when his wife got the kids. We were there.” Sadness seeps into the lively voice.

“He kept us for a special occasion, but nothing even happened. He gave up on waiting, and now we are empty, we are completely useless.”

“Don’t say that, I don’t want to be useless, I want to help. I just wish I could do something.” Sobbing breaks the lively voice’s speech, seemingly echoed by someone further away.

“Well, we are, we’re nothing but garbage. Nobody would want us again, soon we will just be moldy.” A bottle flies towards the smoky voice and hits it’s source, both of them shattering.

“Are you there still?” The lively voice gently whispers, barely able to speak through the sobs. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want to be alone.” The voice is echoed by a sad man further away.