Let's say you like lemons. They are a useful ingredient in cooking and baking. Sometimes you fancy them as a flavour, maybe for your ice or your iced tea. Why, you even remember the odd occasion of you slicing a lemon in half and enjoying it with a bit of sugar sprinkled on.
Sure, you wouldn't peel and devour them by the dozen, but that's fine, right? Of course it is!
So one day you walk down the street and life gives you lemons. And you're all, 'Hey! Thanks, life! I bet those will come in handy!' and you put them in a bag or maybe a basket and you take your lemons and go on your merry way.
Only as you keep walking more and more people start handing you lemons. Some of them must have seen that you were already carrying some and thought you might want a few more, while others simply took you for the kind of person who likes lemons or indeed thought that everybody must love lemons.
You can't fault those people, not really, but at the same time those lemons are getting really difficult to carry and, much as you try, you simply can't refuse all lemon offers (although if nobody is watching you might get a chance to throw some of the lemons into a trashcan on your way).
Well, you make your way home. You're loaded with lemons and glad that you can finally store away the exuberant amount of citrus fruit you have collected. So now your fridge or pantry or basement or whatever is stocked with all the lemons you could ever need and you sit down happily in the living room, waiting for one of your friends to arrive.
They ring the doorbell only moments later and cheerful greetings are exchanged. And oh, look! They've brought you a present as well! You smile and open it in eager anticipation only to discover that their token of affection is a bunch of lemons. They love lemons, you see, and wanted to share their joy with you.
It's at that point that you have to excuse yourself and postpone your meeting, claiming that you're suddenly feeling under the weather. It's true enough, in a way, because despite knowing that your friend means well the smell of more lemons brings a feeling of nausea to your stomach.
Your friend understands and leaves. The lemons stay. You put them with the others. You take a deep breath and decide that you just need a bite to eat. You open the fridge, but as soon as you do your face pales and you have to swallow down the sudden tightness in your throat.
You can't believe your eyes, but it's true. All your food has been replaced with lemons.
The next idea would be to order delivery, but when your pizza arrives you don't smell your favourite toppings. You smell lemons.
Increasingly confused and agitated you venture outside again, because there's a supermarket at the corner and you can buy food there, at least so you though, until you realise that their stock has been completely reduced to lemons.
You leave in a hurry and sit down in a restaurant, any restaurant will do at this point, but before you can even place your order the waiter informs you that they are out of everything. Except for lemons.
You are on the verge of tears or screams or both. The waiter notices your distress and brings a complimentary lemon to your table.
You don't remember ever having run home so fast in your entire life and when you slam the door shut behind you you're almost surprised that it doesn't fall apart and turn into a bunch of lemons.
Eventually you calm down. You walk into your bathroom and light a candle. A soothing scent. At this point any scent other than lemon will do. You disrobe slowly and you step into the shower, adjusting it for a warm, calming and cleansing experience. You turn on the water and let it wash down your face--
WHEN THE FUCKING SHOWER HEAD SQUIRTS LEMON JUICE AT YOU.
...
It is now days later. Days? Or weeks? You've lost track of time. Or should you say you've lemoned lemons of lemon? You can barely tell anymore.
Either way, you walk the same path you walked not too long ago and standing on the corner you spot life. Life smiles at you and hands you lemons.
And you just lose your shit.
You holler a mighty cry of war and you rush forward without thinking and you throw a punch at life. Another one. And another.
You kick and beat life and you let your anger and frustration flow into a cascade of violence until you've bashed life within an inch of itself.
And then, only then, do you stop.
And you take a deep breath.
And you look down to the ground and the mess at your feet.
And you look at your hands.
And you fall to your knees and scream, scream louder than anybody has ever screamed before.
