The Tragic Death of a Small Green Kettle (as witnessed by a grubby little teaspoon)

The User got in this morning and threw her things on the Carpet and the Little White Coffee Table and plonked herself down on one of the Turquoise Chair brothers, who grunted under her weight. She opened Little White Laptop and tickled his belly, and he sang some music for her. Then she came over to the Kitchenette (that's where I live usually, although sooometimes she puts me back in the cupboard but it's dark there and I don't like it.) At the moment I'm upside-down in a Used Yoghurt Pot, a rather friendly fellow, if a little fragile (he's made of glass). It's quite cushy because I'm in here with a Soggy Teabag, and I don't mind being upside-down - it gives life a new angle, which is always nice.

Anyway, the User picked up our new friend Small Green Kettle, who is a friendly chap, although his face is a little melancholic. I don't have a face. Must be nice. She filled him with water from the Stainy Steel Tap and water went all over the Dirty Dishes and they giggled. Then she turned on one of the Hot Plate twins and left Small Green Kettle to boil water for her tea. That's good, I thought. I might get a new Soggy Teabag friend. I do hope it will be Earl Grey this time! English Breakfast's getting quite dull recently.

Then the User went into the Other room (the splishy-splashy one not the rustly-snorey one) and turned on the Shower. The Small Green Kettle started to make bubbly noises, he seemed quite happy. Soon he'd be whistling to say he was ready, and I'd get to have a little swim in an obliging Tea Cup.

Then The User left. I don't know where she went but she might have been with the Little Brown User or maybe the Tall Skinny User. But she didn't come back.

Then Small Green Kettle started to whistle. I'm ready! He whistled. I'm ready! But the User didn't come back. He kept whistling and whistling, and steam came from his little spout. I'm ready! I'm ready! But the User didn't come back. The Dirty Dishes murmured uncomfortably. The Little Window went all cloudy. Scratchy Frying Pan started getting a bit hot under the collar - he was quite close to the Hot Plate. The Small Green Kettle's whistles became more frantic, more desperate, until he sounded like he was screaming. The Hot Plate beneath him was getting redder and redder - soon it was as red as Glass Ketchup Bottle. Then it was orange like the Clementine Peelings on the Scarred Old Chopping Board beside me. The Small Green Kettle screamed and screamed, exasperated screams like his breath was running out. He was starting to burn, and he was turning red, too, beneath his lovely paintwork. But the User still didn't come. Do something! I tinkled in my Used Yoghurt Pot. But the Cheese Grater just sighed raspily and the Blunt Knife said 'He's done for, forgeddit.' The Small Green Kettle screamed and screamed until he had no more breath, for all the water had boiled away.

Then the User came and said a loud bad word and turned off the Hot Plate and took the Small Green Kettle away from it. But it was too late; his little face had chipped away with the heat and lay in sad green flakes on the counter. She said more loud bad words and ran him under the Stained Steel Tap to cool down. Where his eyes once were, black patches of metal showed through like cavernous sockets and the water flowed down them like bitter tears.

All the Utensils mourned quietly except the Blunt Knife who said 'I fakkin told ya' and the Old White Electric Kettle in the corner who, previously embittered by her recent replacement, now flicked her switch on and off joyously, chuckling with delicious shaudenfreude.