Roger was hungry. Not that this was an uncommon occurrence, considering his state of unemployment, but at that moment it hit him that he was hungry.
And he had a sudden need to locate a clean, fluffy towel.
Ignoring his second thought, he wandered over to the refrigerator—which was making odd noises again; he needed to tell Mark about that—and opened the door. Nothing. Not even the usual jar of cheap peanut-butter stared out at him. Nothing but a bare, white wasteland. Frowning, Roger closed the 'fridge and looked around.
His eyebrows met.
On the table, among the four or five empty mugs and scattered papers, was a banana.
That sudden urge for a towel was back.
He stared at the banana. It sat innocently on the table, looking suspiciously cheery among crumbs and coffee-stains. He swore it was staring back at him. And maybe saying, "Eat me eat me eat me eat me eat me…"
Finally, he shrugged off the weirdness of the situation and picked up the banana. It was food. And he was hungry. He began to peel it, looking for some reason why someone would leave it lying around. He didn't think Mark liked bananas, and he had never loved them either.
And he just knew it hadn't been there before. He paused half-way through peeling it to stare at it accusingly, challenging it to give up its secrets. It rested contentedly in his hand. Roger didn't trust it. Nothing that innocuous could be safe. And as far as he knew, bananas didn't just appear in people's kitchens begging to be eaten.
But he was hungry. Hungry people did dangerous things. Like eat bananas they think might be sentient. Roger ate the banana.
When he was done, he threw the peel in the trash. When he turned back to face the room, there suddenly were bananas over every available surface. They covered everything, like a giant blanket of yellow…bananas.
They seemed to be staring at him accusingly. One banana, sitting on the counter near his head, seemed to be asking, "Why did you do it?"
He backed up, stepping on something soft. He looked down, seeing a banana under his shoe, the soft fruit dripping out from the burst peel like blood. He looked up again.
There were more bananas.
And on a cardboard sign, the words We Are The Banana Republic. Roger gulped. He blinked, and—were there more? He was sure of it. The sign had changed to say Prepare Yourself, Human.
He felt panic begin to rise in him, as well as the regret that he hadn't indeed found a towel instead of eating the banana. He didn't want to blink again, didn't want to take his eyes off the army of bananas suddenly inhabiting the loft. Nonetheless, his body thought differently, and he blinked.
There were more of them. And the sign had changed to You Die Today.
In panic, Roger closed his eyes, and suddenly they were everywhere, pressed up against him, smothering him. His eyes opened again and all he saw was yellow-green and brown spots.
"Help!" he cried, starting to thrash.
"Roger…" The voice was far away, and familiar. Mark. Mark would save him.
"Help!" he shouted again.
"Roger!" This time sharper, closer—real.
Roger sat up, a paper falling from his cheek to drift softly to the ground. He had a half-finished cup of tea in his hand. He remembered: they'd run out of coffee and Mark had gone to get some with the remains of his last paycheck. Cautiously, he looked around. No bananas in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Roger, damn it, open the door! My hands are full!"
Fumbling, Roger stood and rushed to the door, throwing it open to admit the hassled Mark. The filmmaker's arms were full with far more than coffee.
"What'd you do, Mark, buy the store?" Roger asked dryly.
"There was a sale," Mark said defensively, dropping his groceries on the table after Roger had cleared a space. Roger spotted something yellow and suspiciously familiar. Mark continued, "Especially the bananas. I hope you don't mind; I know you don't care for them."
Roger stared, then made for the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" Mark asked.
"To get a towel," Roger replied gruffly.
Mark blinked.