Feelings of Mercury and Oranges: A Senior Surreal Photo by Alanna Rice (2012)

I will never forget the year I found salvage in condiments. Heinz and French's were among my friends, and the tartar sauce was even closer in my heart. However, the pepper grinder priest was my favorite friend of all. He helped talk through my myriad of problems, like why the sixty-four foot cat that lived in the barn always wanted to eat my mom's beloved orange tree, or why I felt my moods in interesting ways. At one p.m., I feel like bacon. At two p.m., I feel like fuchsia. At three p.m., I feel like oil. The pepper grinder priest always regarded me as a friend, even though feeling like bacon was shameful and never good. As dawn darkened into day and spring melted into winter, our conversations became more and more complex. I wanted the pepper grinder priest to marry me off to my fiance. We were to be married under the orange tree, since the sixty-four foot cat died of mercury poisoning from some bad fish and was no longer able to harm it. When I asked the pepper grinder priest how he felt about the marrying us off, he told me he felt dinosaur, and then he hobbled away.