Ricci Schwarzler - Lemon 2

T’is the season to be jolly and for George and his other tree dwellers. He usually looked forward to this time, but quite frankly, they had started their cultish ways again and were raising their eyes skyward, in the hope of a blood moon. All he wanted to do was to get nice and fat…and yellow…and juicy.

It’s lemon season! Hurrah!

George saw this as an opportunity to cull some of the cult…no, no he meant the crop. Could lemons get more ridiculous in their beliefs. All he wanted was a simple life. Grow, get yellow and turn into juice in someone’s Coca Cola. Lots of juice, with nice lemon rind pieces in it. Good and lemony.

But as again this year, some aspiring lunatic lemons were taking it too far. Their fanaticism for the blood moon was hindering their juiciness and yellowness. They had to concentrate to become good lemons. None of this cult malarky.

So, one quiet day he gave them all a little chat. But he could see that even in the daytime some of the idiots were looking to the sky to see the blood moon. Part way through his chat, some of them started to chant. ‘We love you blood moon. We praise you, we think you’re the best thing since sliced bread etc etc…’ George was over it.

Then, just at that moment, as if all his prayers were answered, the wind blew their protective white force field off and the large white devils with the gold crowns screeched in to chew holes in some of the brethren. The others looked on in the proverbial horror. The white devils would take a few bites then ‘fwough them to the gwound woughly’. Bwian, one of the fanatics, squealed as he lay in two halves on the ground. The others who were slightly fanatical, decided that they didn’t want to be fanatics anymore, and the blood moon could go hang.

It was time to relax, get big and fat and yellow and be really, really juicy.

The End.