Passion Fruit was uncomfortable with her name. Yes, she was passionate about being a fruit, but the other fruit types chose to interpret it differently. They thought she was a hussy. A tramp. A dirty, dirty trollop. “But there are so many ways in which you can be passionate! It does not have to be a sexy thing!”
“Hey passion fruit! Wanna pash?” Passion fruit had heard that line thousands of times before, even though she had only been alive for sixty-three days. Thirty-two days bound to her mother on a vine. Twelve days on a boat. Five days in a warehouse next to the bananas.
The bananas were sympathetic, even nice to her. They were weary from constant comparisons to a human phallus by the melons, who were misdirecting anger from their constant reference as women’s breasts by the nuts in the bulk bins, who had inspired the colloquial term for the testes of all mammals. “Enough!” said Passion Fruit. “Times have changed and I am tired of being defruitanised.”
She took a bus to the local registry office. It was an arduous journey. She spent several stops embedded in various human’s bottoms and thighs; yet arrived safely and passionately. Her children would not go through the same amount of teasing she endured.
Passion fruit sat at reception politely.
“May I help you?”
“Yes please. I would like to change my name via deed poll.”
“Really?” The receptionist had fat play-dough arms, and they spread out on the table as she leaned forward with fascination.
“Yes. I am tired of being taunted about my name. It implies that I am promiscuous, and all the other fruit think I am easy.”
“Is that so? You poor thing!”
“Thank you for your sympathy. It is so nice to talk to someone who listens!”
Passion Fruit was passionately caught up in her tale of misinterpreted words, slander and woe. So caught up was she, that she did not notice the sound of extra saliva welling up in pools in the receptionist’s mouth. “Pleasssssche. Go onnssche.”
“I would like to change my name to Enthusiastic Fruit.”
“I am very sorry, but the laws surrounding the naming of fruit are thick, iron clad and free of loop holes. There are entire PhDs devoted to fruit name change legislation.”
“Sooooo….”
“So, at this time, only human beings and some primates are allowed to change their name via deed poll.”
Passion Fruit exhibited another use for the term ‘passion’. She cried passionately. She bounced herself against the stack of post it notes passionately. She doubted her God.
Lost in her passion, she did not notice the receptionist sliding a plate closer. On the plate was a large slice of plain cheesecake; next to the cheesecake, a small, sharp knife.
The receptionist picked Passion Fruit up between her sausage digits and cut her in half. Passion Fruit’s blood was spooned over the naked cheesecake.
Her last act was yet another interpretation of her name.
It was The Passion of the Passion Fruit.
