The osmotic pressure of the humble epidermal plant cell, each day caused a small current in the cell's cytoplasm. Organelles were sent adrift in the relentless movements, bumping into each other as they went about their daily duty. One day, a happenstance surge in binary fission in the mitochondrial population of this cell created arguably the prettiest mitochondrion that ever metabolised glucose into ATP.
"Mmm, dat ass" whispered a chloroplast eloquently to himself, as his daily rounds brought him closer to the young mitochondrion he'd lovingly dubbed "sexy". As he passed her he fired some ATP he'd just synthesised in her direction, in an attempt to dazzled her with his energy converting prowess. But it blinded her instead.
"Ow," she said hypothetically, because mitochondrias can't speak of course.
embarrassed the chloroplast sidled up to her.
"You're so hot you've denatured my enzymes," he whispered in her non-existent ear.
"You should probably go see the lysosomes to kill yourself then," she burbled.
The other mitochondrias cackled.
"Burn," a ribosome yelled from somewhere in the distance.
His words echoed through the cell.
Somewhere a lysosome heard and pricked up his imaginary ears.
"Is something burnt?" he asked, shaking with excitement. A suicide mission would be lovely this fine Monday morning.
Shuffling over to the source of the commotion he saw the chloroplast, growing red with embarrassment, swelling, it's jelly like matrix seeping through tiny gaps in its phospholipid membrane.
"He's gonna blow!" A centriole yelled. But didn't do anything because centrioles are useless anyway.
As if in slow motion the lysosome ripped open his own membrane – in a non-sexy way – releasing all the rabid enzymes which lived inside him. They brutally devoured the whole cell and then, when they were done, resorted to cannibalism until only one remained.