Murder with a Hint of Citrus

A story about finding your destiny before fate intervenes

Big Hands

Little Orange was snoozing happily in a wooden fruit bowl when a big hand grabbed him and locked him in a cold cupboard. Little Orange shivered in the dark and wondered why big hands wouldn’t leave him alone.

Weeks before, big hands harvested Little Orange in a crowded crate. Then big hands balanced him precariously on a pile of produce. Later, big hands grabbed Little Orange from the pile and placed him in the fruit bowl.

Finally, the same big hands imprisoned Little Orange in the lonely cupboard.

Master of Destiny

The Little Orange was angry. Why should he always do what the big hands wanted?

Big hands could go fuck themselves.

The Little Orange decided to be the master of his destiny and began to roll. He tasted freedom for the first time and swelled with pride. Before he knew it, Little Orange reached the end of the cupboard.

Standing in a dark corner of the end was Happy Mug.

Have a Nice Day

Happy Mug was painted with an oversized smile. He stared at the orange then turned to show off bold red letters on his back. The text said, Have a nice day.

“You’re right, Happy Mug. I need to stop letting big hands jerk me around and have a nice day for once! I think I’ll do the biggest roll of my life and force open the cupboard door. Then I’ll be free to create a destiny for myself!”

Happy Mug smiled but said nothing.

Little Orange rolled backward, then took a deep breath.

“Here I go!”

Escape to Freedom!

Little Orange rolled hard and fast. He raced through a maze of sparkling tumblers, plastic cups, and saucers. He whizzed around bowls, and pots, Tupperware, and old jam jars. Finally, he pushed himself as hard as he could and ran right into the cupboard door.

Little Orange hit the door at full speed, but it didn’t give. He screamed as he splattered into pieces of pulp, skin, seeds, and juice. A moment later, the cupboard was quiet.

Happy mug smiled and licked his lips. He liked the taste of oranges better than anything in the world. He began to feast.

The next morning, big hands reached into the cupboard to retrieve their favorite coffee cup — the one with a friendly smile. Big hands poured hot coffee into the mug. Big hands held the mug to their mouth and smacked their lips appreciatively.

“Honey, this new coffee you bought is great! It’s rich and dark with just a hint of citrus flavor.”

Honey

Suddenly the big hand reached for his big throat. His eyes bulged, and his big face turned a brilliant shade of purple. He struggled to breathe and fell to the ground. His mouth hung open, limply, and his tongue swelled. As the light dimmed in his eyes, a single orange seed rolled over his bloated tongue onto the linoleum floor.

A few minutes later, Honey stepped over her husband’s corpse and reached into the cupboard.

“Now, where did that orange go?”

Honey poured a fresh mug of hot coffee and, though she found it rich and dark, she didn’t taste the hint of citrus flavor.

The End

A Note from the Author

I’ve scribbled stories in my journal since I was a young girl. Today I stumbled onto this gem of dark comedy that I penned when I was 15 years old.

I did some light editing, but for the most part, it’s like I wrote it 26 years ago. I was a bold writer at 15! I wrote to please only myself.

There’s a lesson to be learned there.

I encourage you to dig for old stories you wrote years ago. Diving into your youthful mind and imagination is a trip!