Orange, are you glad to live on an athletic campus? Well you better be because I got cramped in a forced triple in the back-five. This unfortunate housing choice makes it so whenever I decide to wander over into the Grundle for a deeply medium but filling sup, I must prepare for a voyage. During this voyage I was passing the Grundle’s pearly white front doors, Seemingly inviting the weary Trinity traveler to enter and unwind, but to the right of the doors what a strange sight. A pile of decaying and rotting citrus fruit was tucked in a building corner.
I was intrigued and then curious. The first thought I had was “Hmmm, a splendid pile of free fruit”. This was the goblin urges talking. The second question that struck me was “Why did this exist and how did this happen?”. I started doing the visual calculus over how these wonderful citrus orbs found their final resting place among the mowed Millis Lawn. I took a pencil in one hand and started moving the oranges to reveal the damage that they had sustained. Smashed and rotten. A majority of the fruits had been squashed or simply stepped upon. The other half rotten because of days of exposure. This led to only more questions for my sudu-sleuthing.
“Squashed, huh.” my internal monologue rang out in a cobweb-infested brain. Either someone was smashing these fruits with their own hands or they were meeting a brutal and blunt-force demise with a tool of some kind. That’s when it struck me to observe the rest of the crime scene. I looked up and saw the Millis building. Cold and brick against the warm blue Vermont sky. The wall directly in front of the fruits was brick but houses multiple windows. Between the windows was a mass of metal coating that holds the final piece of the puzzle.
Viscera, juice and peel. All crashed and smeared into the middle metal sheet. The killing floor, The fruit demolisher, The death of circular citrus, It was there between the windows. Those BASTARDS! Some gang of athletic campus barbarians keeps killing these poor innocent little oranges and apples by smashing them against the building in some horrid display. All that was left is a rank and repugnant pile of smashed sustenance. There I was, holding in tears and looking at the mutilated corpses of vitamin c’s strongest soldiers.
The case closed in my mind as I stood and began to walk back to my cramped and dingy triple dwelling. In the end, the death of these delicious fruits is trivial. But damn it, they could have been fruit salad.