‘What did you make me do? Huh? What the f**k did you make me do?’
‘He can’t hear you, Gary,’ the apple said. ‘He’s dead, can’t you see that?’
Gary stopped shaking the bowl, stopped screaming. He looked at the avocado and really saw it for the first time. The apple was right; the avocado lay in brown putrefaction, its rough skin split to reveal its excrescent interior. A small cloud of fruit flies hovered above it like the remnants of a bad idea, and the smell was that of corruption.
In the corner, the muted tones of the television intruded on the silence, and he looked over at it in surprise. He must have left it on yesterday before going to get the truck from the rental place, his mind occupied with too many things to remember to switch it off.
‘… we advise viewers that if you have sm
