Nick Porter’s Corona Creations Story: The Water Bottle Quarrels

“Quit looking at me.” I uttered with bitterness under my breath as I stared with insurmountable rage at the vile Water Bottle. Great! I’m personifying a stinking water bottle!

37,428 specks of dust I’ve counted. 

This all would’ve been prevented if I hadn’t trapped myself on this darn stage. I had to look for something and the next thing I know, the construction and quarantine traps me inside for who knows how long. Look, I know Mr. Weaver is repelled by food and drinks on the stage, but I have to eat. I’ll break my case, I’ve been parselling the Club Crackers Snack size packs I keep on hand in case of a rainy day or in this case an isolation day. The buttery goodness of the cracker, the soft refined crunch and prickly salt. A delicacy in the amazon, or in this case the Bishop Seabury Academy Gymnasium. That’s what I thought for the first 3 days, but then day 5 came around and I was ready for some real food.

For those wondering, yes, I have access to the gym; that has been my main resource for water in the water fountain. That clear distinguished water taste. Each day I drink from it I focus on different details of said drink, the texture, the taste, the hint of metal, and the feeling it has going down my tender and sore throat. Yeah, you know how hostages in those movies are shown screaming to get out? I don’t recommend that, especially if you want to hone in on your acting skills with your prolonged alone time.

I’ve recited poems, re-acted some of my finest works on this stage. Prince Dauntless from Once Upon a Mattress, Mr. Webb from Our town, Willie Leader from Abridged tales of shakespeare, Dead People from Spoon River, Emil from Duck Variations, Cinna the conspirator not the poet, Henry the theatre man from Play On, Kaa The Snake, and the list goes on. I’ve also created a detailed continuity between all the characters I’ve played at this school. 

Person reading this? What am I doing with my life? I mean, really? I could be at home, with Mrs. Porter, but here I am chilling out with a full Ozarka water bottle! Will I die here? 

The days move slower and slower by the minute. Oh, 37,429 by the way. I wallow around with black circles around my eyes. People, I know I said I live and breathe theatre, but this is not funny, my life is on the line!

Do you realize how sad it is to do an IDA with your alter ego everyone you know has come to love. Pick Norter is not easy to work with, alright?! We drew Arnold Sharwartzenagar and Kermit the frog. Pick Norter doesn’t do accents, and can’t play a frog for the life of him. People think working with Alex is hard. Well try working with the polar opposite of yourself and come talk to me, please, please come talk to me.

Last night, I went to get a midnight drink of water, and the water wouldn’t come through, I sighed and went back to sleep. It could’ve simply been my lack of strength pressing on the bar, I’ll try again in the morning.

I woke up, my body sore from head to toe from sleeping on a gym mat. I walked back to the fountain and the water still wouldn’t come out. I stood there for an hour trying to get it to work, while stress eating 3 packs of my crackers. Wouldn’t you believe it? I reached into the box, and they were all gone! My food supply ran out, lucky them!

I dragged my stumps you call feet back to the stage and saw the water bottle sitting on a stool, looking at me with its smugness,

“You suck! You can’t drink me! No water on the stage! HAHA!” It seemed to speak out to me. Lack of sleep makes you hallucinate. What does that water bottle know? It’s not sentient? It can’t starve, right? What am I doing? I’m rambling about a damn water bottle, HA! Normal, right?

I have to drink, for the sake of all things right in this world, for all those who can’t take a sip of this universal delicacy. I opened the water bottle with the faint creak of the cap, and I took a sip of water on the stage.

The words of Mr. Weaver echoed in my head as my body had been put into a PTSD-like shock, what had I done?

The concrete floor seems to become this dark abyss like void as I collapse through, all because I took a sip of water on the stage.

‘I’m sorry Mr. Weaver, it won’t happen again!’ I thought as I seemed to fall. My body became one with the void as it became numb to all the worries about the water bottle that had forsaken me.

It was 2:56, I could hear the sound of Mr. Weavers voice in the background, was this my penance? Oh, No. I guess I was daydreaming in theatre class.