Nature-Human

I’m not much of a believer myself but there had been growing whispers in the theatre stores of a sort of reincarnation, an afterlife that had captured the faith of plastic hearts. The fiery underworld of the incinerators at the medical waste plants may not be our only fate.

Kidney Dishes being saved for paint pots and Puck Towels used for rag and garden ties. The hoards of innocent, unused Medical Scissors whose packets had been accidentally opened, which would usually render them to the death sentencing label of “unsterile”, were rumoured to have been rescued to serve other noble purposes like becoming fertiliser bag clips and plant stakes.

However, I had even less reason to believe that this utopia awaited me, for I was just merely packaging. A long piece of hard plastic, used to store stent tubing. What other potential use could I be apart from my short duty to keep Stent safe and clean?

My time had finally come. The soft plastic seal was torn to expose my hard plastic lid and Stent was expertly removed by blue plastic glove-covered hands. I eyed the medical waste bin, the gates to that inferno with building apprehension. Then, another pair of blue plastic hands lifted me up and away from my impending doom. With great confusion, I looked around and saw some of my comrades lying on a metal trolley ahead of me. Could the rumours be true or did us lowly packaging have an even less dignified fate awaiting us? As I was lowered onto the trolley, I searched for any other hint of my near future and glimpsed the name tag of the Theatre Technician holding me, ‘Bob’. Was this the ‘God’ I had misinterpreted from the murmurings around the stores?

Whilst watching Suture Packets and Saline Bags drop into the abyss, we were suddenly whisked away, past the swinging metal doors, into a room of lockers and plunged into an unfamiliar darkness. Then we appeared to be flying. Muffled human voices punctuated what felt like a fabric cocoon followed by a monotone voice that repeated things like “Stopping all stations to Craigieburn” which baffled us even more.

After what felt like an eternity, we were lifted from the dark and onto a wooden bench. Surrounded by unfamiliar tools, but wait, was that my friend Surgical Scissors sitting in a box looking oddly expectant and Puck Towel sitting with Kidney Dish looking ever so content? Next to us was a set of foreign looking scissors and containers that had labels with ‘Greek Yoghurt’ on them. What was this?

Suddenly, the same pair of hands began cutting curved shapes out of the containers, two opposing semicircles that resembled small butterflies. These were then screwed into the plastic lids of my compatriots and then I too was adorned with a white plastic crown. Was this an initiation into “The Kingdom”?

As if on cue we were then taken to a Garden of Eden and placed amongst colourful wonders who introduced themselves as Marigold, Cosmos, Basil and Rocket. They seemed to greet us with much jubilation, calling us saviours, that we protected them from White Cabbage Moth who feasted on their friends.

A brilliant orb of warmth rained down on us, accompanied by melodic birdsong, and we felt a newfound sense of belonging and purpose in what can only be described as heaven.