Banana Killer

Something catches my eye as I pass by the counter-top: the goofy yellow smile of a lone banana, its once brilliant yellow now beginning to fade and the first brownish signs of over ripeness appearing like the spots on a giraffe. Its taste and texture are preserved for now, but to wait another twenty-four hours would be to risk disaster, or, at the very least, inedible mush. I teeter for a moment on the precipice of indecision, then grab the banana with cool finality. Its flesh will be mine. Immediately, the skin presents an alarming dilemma — cool and leathery, now pitted with the signposts of its impending decay, what lies beneath is so fragile that the slightest mistreatment will leave an unsightly bruise, spoiling the aesthetic perfection of the pale yellow curve. Ripping the top off without careful consideration could transform an entire section into a sticky brown goo. Instead, I opt for a brutally elegant solution — silently slitting its throat with a knife, severing the head with one quick stroke. Once I’ve lopped the stem off, the rest of the skin falls away easily, revealing a pristine, unblemished whole, purchased at the cost of a small chip off the top where the knife dug too deep. The faint, sweet smell of the banana, now released from its hide-bound prison, drifts lazily to my nose, the scent confirming my decision to devour. Only one thing is left to begin my banana-based happiness. I take a bite.