The milk went bad. Worst than bad. Rancid. Evil. And I don’t know why.

No, I do. It was my fault. Time to owe up. I didn’t pay attention, didn’t think to watch for the signs. The milk went bad, but what could it do about it? It was just milk, expecting to briefly but contently live in my fridge being good, white, pure with me checking in regularly to make sure it remained that way. And I failed it. I just had to go on vacation.

Which is why when I opened the fridge this morning it assaulted me. Not merely with its smell. With a giant “sloosh”, and new found density thanks to curdles, the milk tumbled its large pitcher over and splashed on me, its errant keeper. I stood there, in shock and slime, digesting what had just happened. (Not literally of course, that would be unsanitary). Reaching the logical conclusion of sour milk, I accepted its retribution. I believed the matter to be over. Besides, what more could the milk do? It was simply milk.

But I had forgotten what type of milk it was. This was not the lazy, fat 3% or 2% milk. Nor was it the weak, watery skim. No, this was the most deadly of the species, the dreaded 1%. And it began to enact the second part of its vengeance.

Turning away from the opened door, I slipped on the milk drenched floor, falling face first. I managed to land with my hands down to cushion the blow and keep my head from cracking against the tile. A brief, winded laugh escaped me and I started to pick myself up.

Halfway I slipped again, this time taking it in the shoulder. Moaning and no longer amused, I started up again, only to once more lose purchase and crush my shoulder. Here the horror of my situation was revealed to me. As I moved my foot to try and find a dry patch to push off from … the milk would follow!

To my left, to my right, all around, the bad milk flowed. No matter what foot or handhold I would find, the milk would soon have wetted it friction-less, and another escape route was cutoff. I thrashed uselessly trying to find some way, some way, off the spreading white pool, but all that managed to do was drain my energy. Energy that was also being used to keep my head off the floor so the bad milk would not run into my mouth and seal my fate.

Finally, with my strength waning, I decided on a final desperate gambit. I curled myself into a tight ball, my lips almost kissing the milk. The pool drew closer to me, as if trying to raise its level and reach into me. However, I too was contracting, turning myself into a loaded spring, and when I could get no more tension, I released that spring.

My chest only smacked as high as the sink but it was enough for me to grab the tap. I worked quickly, gasping maniacally, knowing this was my only chance; my body was already dragging down to certain white death. My hands in a blur opened the water, directed the stream of water out of the sink, and grabbed the liquid detergent. I whipped around with it as I fell back, now armed.

The bad milk tried to draw away but it was too late for it. Clean, pure water and soap diluted it away. It washed over me as well, as I lay on my back laughing up at the ceiling, exhausted. The water ran, but I was going to wait a bit before I shut it off. Anyway, with everything now soapy I wasn’t going to be able to get up or move at all for awhile.

That’s when I heard the rustling from the still open fridge above my feet. I lifted my tired head to look, and my eyes grew wide with terror.

I had also forgotten to check on the fruit.