Then Apple said, "I have enough insecurities to deal with, without yours running rampant circles around my ankles, nipping away at my willingness to remain patient and sane."
Banana sat there, as decision-less as ever, babbling about her feelings concerning a rising need for the relocation of all of the citizens of Fruit Basket in preparation for possible climate change of dramatic proportions. They hadn't even been discussing this subject, but Banana, poor girl, won't stop attempting her song-and-dance of passive aggression, utilizing her greatest weapon: the "irrelevant, important-sounding topic-onslaught," which skillfully hedges Apple in for hours while in this weakened state of "creeping, reluctant apathy." He has been mentally battered consistently, once every week, for a long time now. Banana's artfully-composed "non-questions," being questions that seek no real solutions, have worn Apple down to a dangerously-malleable state of confusion. He looks kinda bruised and gross; definitely not delicious anymore, but soft and overly-sickeningly sweet, lacking a palatable texture even. How sad!
But, really, this is what happens when he's picked too soon.
He hadn't yet gained the power and maturity he'd be needing to properly confront and overcome this nefarious enemy, his best friend and soul-mate: the inconspicuously tropical Banana.
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