Domestic pineapple

Waiting for the pineapple to ripen, North Vancouver 2018 © Tanya Clarke

Waiting for the pineapple to ripen, North Vancouver 2018 © Tanya Clarke

Writing Prompt No. 67

Tia found the pineapple washed up on the shore near her house.

She wasn’t sure why but she picked it up. She brushed the sand away as best she could and carried it back home. She placed the pineapple on the counter in her kitchen with the intention of eating it once the fruit was ripe.

After a couple of days, she breathed in the sweet tropical scent. She gave one of the leaves a sharp tug. Someone once told her or maybe she’d read somewhere that if the leaf comes away with ease then the fruit is ripe. The leaf did pull away easily. She knew it would. The sweet smell was a sure sign that the fruit was ready.

She selected a large knife cutting off the leafy end. The juice dripped onto the chopping board gathering in a sticky pool. Tia dipped her fingertip into the juice and licked the sweet taste off her skin.

There was something. A small sound that wasn’t anything she’d expected. She looked around.

‘Hello?’ The voice was muffled, distant as if trapped somewhere small. She shook her head and rested the blade of the knife preparing to cut the pineapple right through the centre.

There it was again. The voice. The trapped voice. She looked around her. There was no one else in the house. The voice seemed to be coming from the fruit. Really? She put her ear up close to the prickly surface.

“Hello? Anyone there?” The voice was coming from inside.

With utmost care, Tia cut the pineapple open just enough to be able to break apart the flesh with her fingers. Inside was a tiny human family. Tia blinked in shock. The family waved.

“Thank goodness,” said the mother. “I thought we’d be in there forever.”

Feeling brave? Want to share your own version? ‘Let it go’ in the comments below.