Death of a cocoa puff

They fall to the floor, one by one, on by one. Chipped and battered they rest in the grout of the red bricks, feeling safe from their end. Idle and quiet they gaze up above, waiting for more, hoping for more to fall and join them. They hope for an end to the loneliness, the start of a new life apart from the plastic bag they've know from the very beginning.

Slowly, slowly, their numbers build up. One by one, one by one. A small colony begins to form. Each member lines themselves up to be ready for the march to the new promise land. Each member readies their mind for the impacts of freedom, the dawn of liberty.

A stillness settles into the air, a silence. They rotate glancing back and forth, from one comrade to another. They are ready. The commander swivels his round frame, leading his comrades off to begin the search.

Suddenly, the tranquility is broken, the silence disturbed. A screech emanates from the darkness far, far up overhead. Blurs of color pass before their eyes, madness takes over the rational minds of the individuals, molding them into a frantic group.

White sheets come down, an iron wall of destructive force. One by one, one by one, each cocoa puff is claimed by this mysterious death.

One by one, the spaces where single puffs once stood are occupied by a perfectly rounded circle of beige dust.

One by one, they all disappear.

One by one, their vision is ruined.

The girl looks down at her shoe, lifting it to examine the bottom.

"You know, we really should try to stop dropping so many."