by Sarah-Ann
(Gold Arrow: Creativity Item 3 - Writing)
My kiwi looks like a small oak-colored egg in a white nest, my napkin. When I pick it up and turn it over in my hands, it feels soft and squishy, and its skin is furry and rough.
On its surface is hair, prickly and coarse. On one end, there is a bump where the kiwi was once connected to the rest of its plant, and on the other end, a sticker the supermarket tacked on.
As I slowly peel off the sticker, it unwillingly detaches itself from the brown skin of my meal, leaving little web-like strands of sticky glue still holding on to the kiwi. The sticker gives his friend one last goodbye handhold, before finally letting go and enfolding my index finger in paper and plastic and glue.
I rub my thumb and second finger together, causing the glue to flake off so I can brush the sticker into the rubbish bin. The sticker casts me a look of betrayal, then falls resignedly into his grave.
When I puncture the kiwi’s skin, a pungent aroma wafts from it and the taste buds on my tongue bristle. The kiwi’s seeds form a dark, mysterious wall, encasing the pale center of the kiwi in ray-like rows of black splendor. My spoon carves into the inside of the fruit, scooping out pale green flesh and making itself slimy and wet.
The taste of the kiwi is sweeter on the outside, but it flows into sourness as I get closer to the middle of the fruit. Its small, round, oval black seeds stick to my teeth. My tongue flicks the seeds out of the tiny crevices between my teeth, and I crunch them and swallow.
The sourness makes my tongue sting and my eyes water, but after the first bite I am thirsty for more. The sweet aftertaste makes up for the kiwi’s sour beginning, like a criminal trying to right his previous wrongs. I continue to eat, digging my way through the lime-green mush with its beady black eyes, scraping the insides of the skin.
When the last of its insides have been devoured, the kiwi skin falls deflated onto my napkin. It looks lonely after being robbed of its flesh. Two old companions are gratefully reunited when the kiwi too, is released into the dark, dirty pit along with my napkin.
