No Happy Nonsense

Green Is Not Gold


December 2nd, 2023 | Not Even Close


5.5 Minute Read

I've been trying to eat better lately. Very lately, like for three days. I've finally eaten through all the pie, and when I finally woke up from my necessary binge-recovery slumber, I realized I should improve my health. I also need to find a good divorce lawyer.

I bought several crates of golden kiwis from my grocery store. I've read that golden kiwis are sick as hell, to use a scientific term. They taste sweeter than regular green kiwis, and their skin isn't all fuzzy and weird. They're also good for you, I think. Oh, oh! The best thing; people scoop all the kiwi-guts out of a half-cut of kiwi like it's a little bowl and eat it like that. It's so cute and stupid, you've got a little kiwi bowl for your kiwi. How quaint, how whimsical! My tofu blocks only come in a boring plastic little tub thingy. Way less fun.

When I got home with the crates I set them in the living room and found my crowbar to pry them open. It was more difficult than I imagined when I was gleefully purchasing nearly one hundred pounds of the little fruit balls back at the grocery store. In the beige and boring reality of my empty home, the crate of kiwis sat there mocking me as I clumsily jammed and yanked my crowbar under boards, trying desperately to open the stupid thing.

After a few minutes and more than one splinter jabbed into my hand, I calmly walked into my backyard and grabbed my father's old hatchet from the shed. I came back into my home and started swinging wildly at the crate, taking great joy with every swift strike down at the planks of wood. I didn't even take care to aim, my mind went entirely quiet and calm and every bouncing lick from the blade head sent a jolt of pure joy into my darkened heart. I heard a cracking of the wood with one of my accidentally well-placed blows, and I was too overcome to even stop, I just kept swinging and swinging. I started battering the kiwis inside the crate, the spray of the sharp tangy juice hit my face and finally I became present again. I wiped away the juice and looked into the hole in the crate.

Wait a second, these kiwis are fucking green? Like, just regular kiwis? The fuck is this.

I dug my hands into the crate and pulled out two kiwis, smashed them against my wall. Green juice dripped down. Green fucking juice. I grabbed hunks of the crate and started tearing them off the crate. I made the hole big enough to fit inside of, and so I hopped in and stomped. I screamed as loudly as I could with each smash. I looked down, nothing but golden brown skin and green innards. It was at this point I believe that I passed out in a fit of rage, because the next thing I realized I was waking up on the floor, one leg bent to fit inside the crate, and the sun was nearly setting.

I got in my car and drove to the grocery store. I didn't have time to change my clothes, I was soaked in the sticky kiwi juice. My shirt and pants were stained a faint green. It didn't matter.

I went to the produce section, looking for someone who worked there. I yelled out a slightly muffled "Hey okay!" because I didn't really know what to say. Everyone in the area looked at me, disgust across their faces. Two employees walked up to me saying something like "are you okay dude" and I just started screaming as loudly as I could. It was at this point that my body finally realized the sensation of the hatchet being stuck in the back pocket of my pants. I grabbed the handle and brandished the tiny ax.

"Why are they green?!" I yelled at the employees, who started slowly backpedaling away from me. "Why are they green," I knelt down, emotions overwhelmed me and I started sobbing. I threw the hatchet off to my side, and put my hands in my face. "Why are they green?" I blubbered out a final time.

Eating healthy is going great.


Filed Under: Fiction