I’ll do you one better, Ghid.
It was a peaceful summer day. The skies were a dim orangeish-pink, and as the sun set, Meso got a warm, tingly feeling inside. He felt as though today would be a good day. Nothing could get him feeling down.
There was Eljay, standing on a chair, with a fishing pole in his hand, seemingly with a banana peel hooked to the very end. His hard work was beginning to pay off. The peel slowly came closer and closer to the ground until finally, it made contact.
Eljay chuckled to himself. “This is going to be so great,” he said internally, ready for his labor to finally produce its well-deserved fruit.
It was at this moment that Meso turned the corner, only to find Eljay, to his surprise, wth a banana peel on a fishing line.
“While I wouldn’t put it past you,” Meso said, “I have to ask; what on earth are you doing?”
“Well,” Eljay replied, “this right here is a fake banana peel.”
The statement took Meso aback. He knew instantly that there were some deep, philosophical questions to be asked. His mind could only register one, repeating question, one burning inquiry for his associate; “A what?”
“A fake banana peel.” Eljay repeated.
“You can’t- that’s-...”
Meso tried desperately to conjure up a sentence worthy of what he was thinking, but nothin quite expressed his sheer lack of understanding pertaining to this one, small, yellow object. Finally, after gathering his thoughts, he spoke;
“Look, what’s the point of a banana peel if it’s fake?” Asked Meso, still somewhat stunned.
Eljay, quick on his toes, replied at a speed that blinded Meso.
“You just pack inspiration. It’ll work, I’m sure of it.”
“No, it won’t. It can’t. That’s impossible!” Meso retorted, not knowing the chain of events he had just set off. It was too late to turn back. The gears in Eljay’s mind had already begun turning, thoughts began to relay messages to his neurons, levers that had never been used before seemed to have been pulled in Johnsen’s mind.
His words hit Meso like a ton of bricks. The dare nearly shattered Meso’s perception of reality. Every conceivable possibility, every outcome seemed to converge in his mind.
Without saying a word, Meso slowly, deliberately moved his left leg forward, his foot moving toward the peel. Thoughts rished through his mind, telling him to stop, urging him to turn back, but it was too late.
His toe collided with the fake banana peel. It began to slip forward, lurching his body backward and then down. The force of the concrete on his back nearly killed him. A shockwave of pain rippled across his entire body, sending him into an eight-month coma.
Meso awoke, gasping for breath.
“That was a but much,” said Eljay, standing there next to his hospital bed with flowers in his hands.
“Eljay, I must habe been out for months. This was a loss for everyone.”
“No,” replied Eljay, taking a stance of authority. “Just you.”
Meso’s life support had been cut. He began to gasp for air. Beeps could be heard pulsing faster and faster.
Meso was found dead in his bed the next morning, flowers lying next to him.