Heard Through The Grape Vine

This was the moment he had spent his whole life waiting for. Any minute now, he'd fall out, into the light, red skin shining brightly, ready to sell himself.

He could feel his friends all around him, bunched together, connected, rubbing each other, careful not to hurt one another. They were all there for the same purpose, but he had made it a personal goal to be one of the first to go. Stand out proudly against the rest. Picked first.

When the light hit him, he couldn't make anything out - it was brighter than he had ever thought. Lost in the blaze, he felt himself get plucked off. The fall felt like it was going to last forever. When he finally landed, it was much softer than he imagined. When he was finally able to see again, he realized the layer below him was comprised of his friends, all spread out on the bottom of the bowl. Some facing down, some up, others sideways. It didn't really matter - he was near the top - the prime location. Off to his left, he could see another bowl, filled to the brim with the enemy. Bigger. Plumper. Juicier. Green. Seemingly better in every way.

He'd show them.

But before he knew what was going on, she was standing over them, picking up both bowls and placing them in the refrigerator. When the door shut - the light flickered off. The freon hummed in the background. All went dark. He was scared. They had warned him of this. He just had to hope. Hope to one day get out of the darkness. Hope to get chosen by the woman. To satisfy her. He was a fruit of opportunity. Not because he had the opportunity, but because she did. If one of his comrades was bad, she could just pick another. To choose wisely. To choose him.

As the days passed, he quickly got used to her routine. The door would open in the morning, grabbing a handful of both reds and greens. No favorites between the two factions. No set number of each. However many fit between her fingers were the lucky ones. The rest would remain in their bowls, or fall out before they reached salvation, like one of those sick crane games at a carnival - dropping the plush stuffed animal right before the end.

It had happened to him a couple times. He had gotten excited. Felt the graze of her fingers, the smoothness of her skin against his. He knew she wanted him. She was just playing with him. Waiting for when he was perfectly ripe. Today he had sworn he was going to make it. She had opened the door, a large smile on her face, only taking a few greens before turning to the reds and plunging her hand into bowl. He was pressed against her knuckles. It was going to be his time. He would be remembered for this, his succulence, his sweetness. But as her hand was raising, he could feel the foundation below him slipping, tumbling out. Thats when he fell, back into the bowl, but not before he swore he heard another red call out to him,

"Don't worry! You'll get chosen too. Don't stop hoping!"

When he landed - he landed hard. There was no longer a base layer of reds to protect him from the porcelain. He bounced around a bit, able to see the greens were almost gone. They were winning. As bruised as he now was, he wasn't going to give up.

By his guess - it had been two weeks. Two whole weeks. She left him there. Abandoned, alone, at the bottom of his bowl, with a couple other reds that looked more like raisins at this point. He had lasted the longest - wrinkled, pasty, and fermented. All the juice he was able to retain had turned into alcohol, making him, cranky, volatile, and drunk. When he opened to the door, he let it pour out, slurred and sloppy,

"Hey bitch! Look who...finally decided to...s-s-show up! Let me guess, it's my turn to get chosen, right? Oooh nooooo, of course it's not. I'm too s-s-shriveled and small. I just got to keep h-h-hoping rightttt?"

She wasn't even paying attention to him. Her mind on other things - emptying the fridge, smelling items before deciding if they needed to be purged - thrown into the trash and discarded. As he scanned the fridge, his eyes made contact with a stick of butter that was gazing at him from behind its window on the door, "What are you looking at butter!?"

He paused for a moment - realizing that it was only a stick of butter and therefore could not respond, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You don't know me!"

He stopped mid thought as he saw her bend down, wrapping her fingers delicately around the edges of the bowl, lifting it into the air. This was it, this was his moment. He knew it'd come. Better late than never. He could see it all - the bowl as it continued it's trajectory up towards her mouth, tilting back, dumping him in, to be mashed between her molars. Rolled over her tongue. Tasted. But first she took a deep breath and instead of smiling, she scowled, coughing a bit.

Thats when everything turned upside down.

Literally.

And down he fell - straight into the trash.