Spud Solanum climbed the soft hill to where the microphone waited, glinting in the moonlight. He cupped it in his left hand, “Ladies and gentlemen, in this corner…” To Spud’s left, Queen Aubergine, resplendent in lilac and green, the undisputed champion of the hill. Queen had successfully defended her title two weeks running, turning to pulp all comers. She had had a good run but Spud saw a soft spot, a brown bruise upon her shoulder and knew it would come to an end soon.
Spud was no tot himself. Before coming to the ring he had been in his dressing room trying to focus himself in the mirror. He squinted and splashed water upon his eyes but still could not see clearly. He rubbed them, felt the telltale nubs; he had heard of sprouting but never thought it would happen to him. He calmed himself and following some indecision, snapped them off. He could see clearly, so clearly he noticed folds in his earthy skin. He resolved to work more with the cucumbers; he would not go gently to seed.
“…from the next vine over, in the red trunks, weighing 163 grams, The Red Terror!” Except for the ripe blush of her skin, her name hardly seemed to fit her. Spud thought one good left jab from Queen and she’d be ketchup.
“OK, I want a good fight, a fair fight, now go back to your corners.” The fruits went back to their corners to await the bell.
