I won’t be writing a story for Friday Fictioneers this week, because the photo prompt squicks me too badly. What to do…I know, I’ll explain why I can’t stomach this one.
Blue. Green. Orange.
Once upon a time, I was a child. And when I was a child, we lived in California for a few years.
California was warmer than central Pennsylvania, so warm that there were orange trees and cheap oranges, and my mother bought plenty of oranges and kept them in the kitchen cupboard. I knew where they lived. One day, I reached in to get one without looking, and my fingers sank deep into a disgusting blue-green orange.
My mom kept oranges in the refrigerator after that, but things that look rotten give me the shudders to this day.
True story.
A Number of Things 