As the extension pole with the menacing red wire basket claw draws near, the fear intensifies, Mr. Avocado. The orchard, once a haven, now seems like a battleground where your very existence is at stake. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze transforms into a haunting whisper, and the sunlight filtering through the branches casts long, ominous shadows on your green skin.
The claw, now a looming threat, not only poses the risk of tearing at your skin but carries with it the ominous consequence of potential disfigurement. The rhythmic clinking of the wire basket adds a dissonant note to the atmosphere, heightening the anxiety as the extension pole approaches.
The anticipation reaches a crescendo, and your thoughts race with the realization that if scarred, you might lose your value to the farmer. The once pristine beauty that made you a desirable fruit could be marred, rendering you unsuitable for consumption. The prospect of being discarded as waste becomes a chilling reality, adding another layer of vulnerability to the impending ordeal. It’s a moment of profound dread as the tranquility of the orchard gives way to the harsh reality of potential rejection and waste.
And looking across to another tree you see another avocado being picked by a purple, soft, silicone, glove shaped picker. That avocado is smiling as it is gently picked, without scar or fear.