Memoirs of a Banana

When her fingers tore me off from my comrades I knew my purpose was to die. To give pleasure to this human she-beast who was going to eat me alive. It began with an undressing. Strip by strip she tore off my clothes and dropped them around my feet. Next thing I knew, her teeth loomed close, snapped at my neck, and ripped off my head.

Inside her mouth, her tongue harassed me, pushed me around, and turned me into yellow mush. Then I slid down a tight canal of total darkness. The rest of my body followed. I felt my ear on my foot, my elbow on my spine, my mouth on my chest, my skull on my scrotum. I was in shambles. I was confused. But most of all, I was dead. I don't remember much after that. I must've been dead for so long I lost count of days.

Then in one heave, I found myself in bright light, floating in pristine water. This must be heaven, I thought. Then I looked up and saw this puckered up trap door, sandwiched in between two cheeks. Other dead brown things slid out and fell on top of me. My comrades! I wept but tears didn't fall. I cried but didn't hear my voice. I screamed but couldn't feel my throat. As my dead comrades floated around me, I recited a poem from memory: "You must not shut the night inside you, / But endlessly in light the dark immerse. / A tiny lamp has gone out in my tent-- / I bless the flame that warms the universe."

The trap door above blew hot air. The wind rustled. The water rippled. My dead comrades gently rubbed against me. I was moved. Thunder clapped in the sky, and my comrades and I swirled around and around. The cheeks spun before my eyes and we were gone. Sucked into a limbo of nothingness. That was the last image that cleaved my memory: the spinning. If that's heaven, it's the only thing I wish to forget. Yet among these dark walls, I remember, I remember. I'm afraid I'm doomed to remember.

// Apr 2014

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