Tomato

“Hey, I’ve got some tomatoes that are really good, you wanna try one?”

Through clenched teeth, using almost all mental energy to supress the gag reflex, “Sure”

“Here, have a slice”

a bone white, pock-marked lattice wheel of fibrous arms houses an inflamed-red watery and tumorous pulp, interspersed with mite-like seeds

I’m pale and clammy but I say “Yum”

“Do you want some salt?”

“Sure,” I answer.

I pour salt onto this lump of indecent mush that somehow makes me think of something born premature and also long-dead. I gather strength and courtesy as the quivering ooze nears my mouth. As I bite into the stiff globule, its awful skin begins to unspool, a thin thread of bitter paper to herald the disgusting crush of garbage-smell and acridity into my face.

Chewing only finds new ways to suffer. A blandish muck, with notes of mildew and insects. Mouth is sogging through a texture similar to soaked toilet paper. A few beads of salt touch the roof of my mouth.

I don’t swallow so much as gulp. The trial has ended.

“Pretty good right?”

“Uh, yeah. I just don’t like tomatoes that much.”