Illegal bLoGGing

She picked up the bunch of bananas lying on the mahogany kitchen table and studied it with great care.

It was a bunch of five. One was completely green, three were greenish-yellow, and the last was sun-riped, with the outer skin a bit cracked. She caressed the ripe one with the palm of her left. It was velvety and firm. It felt good. It felt just right. 

It was a good pick. No, it was THE perfect pick. One of those few easy choices she made in her life which indisputably made sense.    

Or so she thought.       

It did not take great force to detach the ripe banana. It was that kind which left a small bit of peel dangling on the main stalk, that eventually fell on the floor. Nonetheless, the other four bananas bore the brunt of her grip. Her fingers left a mark on the green one which would surely turn black once it has ripened.  It got the stigma and was doomed to the bin. No one would ever want to eat a blackened banana. Except maybe for a gang of Drosophila.

She stripped the peel of the ripe banana half its starchy flesh in one swift motion. Its sweet, etheric scent filled her nose. She brought the tip to the pout of her lips, inhaled more of the almost intoxicating flavour, and finally took a small, shy bite. She ate slow, savouring each bite with much delight and satisfaction. Meanwhile, the four bananas shivered in mixed trepidation and rancour.

Especially the green one.    

On her way out of the kitchen, she stepped on the small banana peel which fell on the floor. She slipped and hit the back of her head on the mahogany table. Streaks of blood stained the unpolished surface, now reminiscent of Pollock’s Lavender Mist but all in bright red.   

As her lifeless body lay on the cold marbled floor, the green banana was no more green with fury. Its soul though as black as its stigmatized skin was afraid no more of the waiting bin.