an Alternative Ninja

an Alternative Ninja
taking everything too far.

When I was younger (read: 16) I had a strange habit of throwing fruit at my sister. I distinctly remember one Christmas where I would mercilessly pelt her with mandarin oranges. Y'know, the little ones that are super easy to peel and come in the green wrapper, the ones that every kid in class had at least one of every single day for the entire month of December and eventually came to hate (don't get me wrong, I could probably eat an entire box of them in one sitting)? Yah, those mandarin oranges.

Usually these outbursts of fruit violence would involve battle cries, the more ridiculous the better. I can't remember any of the ones I cackled while hurling mandarin oranges, but I do remember what I said the first, and last, time a banana was my weapon of choice.

"Flying banana boomerang!" I hollered, standing maybe about two feet from my younger sister.

She swore even before the oddly shaped yellow fruit hit her, and then swore again once it did. Rather than pick the projectile up on the floor and return my volley, she just left.

Sweet victory!

To celebrate, I ate the banana.

Or at least I tried.

Upon releasing the banana from the skin the encased it, I was met with a foe much mightier than my sister. The banana, having tasted human flesh mere moments before, lunged at me with ferocity. It leaped from the protective skin and angled toward my undefended foot, probably with claws or talons or fangs bared, which I couldn't see, of course, because my viewpoint was from above and behind it. Durr.

However, the banana-fiend neglected my sparse ninja training, training that thankfully included agility exercises. My reflexes kicked in immediately, and I dodged the fruit's venomous bite/scratch/whatever.

It fell to the floor with a thump.

Seizing the opportunity, I fell upon the fallen fruit with fervour. In seconds the entire thing was in my mouth, victim to my vampire-esque canines. For the second time that minute I realized sweet victory!

To celebrate, I paraded about the kitchen making feeble attempts at communicating the outcome of this decisive battle, mouth still full of my foe.

My sister looked on from the living room, trying to avoid eye contact and probably assuring herself that we weren't related.

The End

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