I haven’t had an orange in four years and seven months. Why? Because I was in jail, and for what is my dirty little secret. However, today is my final day as a human being and all I wanted was an orange. Unfortunately, the jail I lived in didn’t allow fruits for some bizarre, twisted reason. So I had to settle for the memory of an orange.
Even after all this time, I could still remember what it felt like. Bumpy, dry kin like a snake, firm and the size of a baseball. An edible baseball, but still.
Shades of yellow, orange, red, and even faint traces of green painted my imaginary fruit, swirling and swirling around my orange until it was perfect. My mouth was salivating, and it got even worse when I remembered the smell; citrus with fain traces of earth.
I opened my pretend fruit, marveling at how difficult it was with my bare hands. The skin refused to come off. I had to use my incisors to begin opening it.
After a few minutes of orange-flavored work, the skin was completely removed. As I looked at my peeled edible baseball, I realized it looked like an orange brain with white veins.
Once again, its sweet scent invaded my nostrils, overpowering the rancid odor of my cell. I split my orange into neat little segments, juice dripping all over my fingers. Suddenly, two small, cream-colored seeds popped out and hit the bridge of my nose. I smirked and looked at them, mildly surprised at their teardrop shape.
Finally, my celestial fruit was ready to be eaten. I slowly bit down on one of the slices, savoring its sweet and sour taste and the tingling sensation in my taste buds. ‘Ah, orange, how I’ve missed you.’
I was rudely pulled out of my daydream as a man opened my cell and said in a gruff voice, “All right you sicko, time for our appointment with Ol’ Sparky.”
Ol’ Sparky, what an odd name for an electrocuting chair...