Mr. Jell-O
MR. JELL-O’S NEFARIOUS TRANSMISSIONS ARE MAKING MORE SENSE EVERY DAY NOW . . .
Mr. Jell-O exists in the shadows of everyday life. He moves at a strange and unpredictable gait through the darkness. In the palm of his left hand sits an old-timey metronome resembling something you’d find at an antique shop while passing through an old rust belt boomtown. This seemingly vestigial device clicks back and forth at an inconsistent period. A keen observer might notice a subtle ripple whenever the pendulum on this relic swings past its midpoint. This wake is transmitted through an abnormal medium, inducing an uncanny sensation within those willing to perceive it. At his purest, Mr. Jell-O is simply a messenger, but those who know him best refer to him as the moderator of peace of mind.
With a gesture, Mr. Jell-O gets my attention and projects some sort of image in front of me. Straining my eyes, I make out what seems to be a silhouetted human body. With a smirk, Mr. Jell-O begins to manipulate his projection. With the rotation of his wrists, the head of the humanoid figure slides out past its shoulder and falls swiftly onto the floor. With upturned palms Mr. Jell-O raises his hands toward the ceiling. In one fluid motion the mindless figure picks up its head from the ground and begins to glide in my direction. Once within a couple feet, the figure kneels down and extends out its arms, holding its disconnected head as if to offer it to me. I glance toward Mr. Jell-O, trying to decipher what he’s telling me. He’s no longer smirking; instead, he’s intently focused on the actions of his manifestation. Just then the pendulum swings past its midpoint and causes a momentary fuzz. In this sliver of a second, Mr. Jell-O escapes into the shadows, taking his creation with him.
I find myself in the place I was last seen, staring at a framed picture hanging from the wall. The frame wobbles back and forth, reflecting a distracting glare into my eyes. With a sigh of relief I re-engage with my computer screen and try to gather my bearings. This is not the first time I’ve crossed paths with Mr. Jell-O, but I’m seeing him less frequently these days and his messages are becoming increasingly convoluted. I’m especially struggling to digest his latest transmission. Hoping to straighten out my stream of thought, I step away from my desk and take a walk outside. Replaying the interaction in my mind, I notice something unfamiliar in Mr. Jell-O’s appearance. I think deeply about the muscles of his face in a search for any clues. Zoning in on the slight tenseness of his eyebrows, I start to understand. He seems to be expressing a look of desperation. With that, the meaning behind his charade becomes clearer to me. As I continue my walk, I begin to pull upon this small thread of understanding, hoping to further unravel Mr. Jell-O’s message.
Art by Mason Burke