An Hour in Jell-O

 

    For exactly one hour, I lived inside a square of lime green Jell-O. Not metaphorically — literally. I had my scuba gear, a waterproof watch, and the curiosity of someone who’s read too many dessert-themed metaphysical journals.

    The moment I wobbled in, the world changed. Light bent in strange, citrusy ways. Every sound was muffled, like the universe had stuffed cotton in its ears. And the view? Picture a kaleidoscope sneezing in slow motion. Occasionally, a rogue fruit bit would drift by like a comet — a stray grape or half-suspended mandarin wedge, preserved forever in sweet, gelatinous suspense.

    Time didn’t tick so much as jiggle. I waved my hand and it rippled across the cube like a slow-motion applause. I somersaulted. I floated. I laughed — the bubbles were hilarious. For that hour, the world wasn’t about stress, deadlines, or gravity. It was about color. Wobble. And wondering what flavor the sky might be.

    When my timer beeped and I squelched my way out, the world felt stiff and suspiciously un-lime. But I walked straighter, smiled wider, and for the rest of the day… I wiggled just a little.