There are many things in this world that deserve scientific attention—gravity, black holes, why biscuits taste better at 3am—but very few people have ever stopped to question what happens when a bowl of jelly decides it has thoughts.
Rupert did not intend to discover this. He merely opened the fridge, expecting dessert, and instead found the jelly wobbling aggressively in a way that suggested both attitude and judgment. He stood there, unsure whether to apologise or assert dominance. The jelly continued its silent but firm vibration, like a tiny edible earthquake with opinions.
In search of sanity, Rupert opened his laptop—big mistake. Five tabs were waiting for him like a committee he had forgotten to attend:
roof cleaning isle of wight
patio cleaning isle of wight
driveway cleaning isle of wight
exterior cleaning isle of wight
pressure washing isle of wight
He stared at them, then at the jelly, then back at them. Was this a sign? Was the jelly suggesting his patio was beneath its standards? Was dessert judging his outdoor maintenance?
Before he could process that level of emotional responsibility, the jelly leaned slightly to the left. Rupert did not know jelly could lean. That felt like a boundary violation.
Just then, his neighbour Becca knocked on the door holding a lamp that was somehow flickering even though it wasn’t plugged in. She calmly said, “Don’t be alarmed, but the lamp has started predicting the weather through interpretive flickers,” then turned and walked away like that statement required no follow-up.
Rupert considered moving. Instead, he refreshed one of the tabs—pressure washing isle of wight—just to feel something normal. It worked, briefly, until the jelly started vibrating in sync with the scrolling.
He tried to ignore it. He tried spooning a bit out. The jelly reformed. He put the spoon down. The jelly shimmied. At that moment, Rupert accepted there were only two types of people in the world: those who control dessert… and those who are threatened by it.
He backed away slowly. He closed the fridge. He whispered, “You win.” The jelly pulsed once, as if satisfied.
Hours later, when he returned, the jelly had stopped wobbling and was completely still—like a tiny gelatin dictator who had successfully negotiated a ceasefire. Rupert didn’t touch it. He simply made toast and moved on with his life.
The browser tabs stayed open. The jelly remained undefeated. The universe offered no explanations.
And somewhere, on a very clean patio he definitely didn’t request, destiny was probably laughing.