This was inspired by a story, "Alley Rape," by Jenna Reiban. I follow her blog, you should too. Here's the link: http://wildwriter2010.blogspot.com/
Once upon a time there lived a grape.
Gilbert Grape.
Gilbert lived a relatively ordinary un-dangerous life until he found his way to a restaurant called Chez Romano which was a sort of high-end fancy place. The grape escaped the safety of the kitchen one night when it was flung accidentally by a careless chef out an open window onto a dim-lit alleyway behind the restaurant. Perhaps the chef noticed the grape or perhaps he didn't, but either way he didn't care to retrieve the grape from the alley and rescue it from the inevitable fate which awaited it. The grape rolled down the alley, being thrust this way and that, racing down the crevices between each brick, occasionally becoming airborne whenever it hit a stone or cigarette or any other garbage left on the ground.
The grape refused to join the same ranks as the garbage on the ground, it wanted to roll forever, out of the alleyway, out of the city, back to its home, in a sunny vineyard in the south of France.
It gathered speed in its determination, slipping and sliding on the slippery alley floor, wet from the rain. It passed the dumpster the restaurant used for its waste and leftover food. The grape refused to become leftover food. It would not come to this! However the same chef that had accidentally flung the grape out the window earlier came outside to take out the trash, and he saw the grape racing away from him on the cold hard unwelcoming alley floor, and he chased after it, yelling, "Where do you think you're going, Grape? I'm not through with you! Suck my dick, Grape, suck it, like the little bitch you are."
The grape tried to hide, tried to squeeze into a particularly deep crevice in the road, but it did not fit. The grape was doomed. It refused to accept its terrible fate, refused to suck the clumsy chef's dick and submit to the life of "the little bitch it was." But the chef was too fast for the grape, and he bent down and picked it up, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger with unnecessary force, almost popping it. He unzipped his pants. He split the skin of the grape open from squeezing it so hard, and the gash began dripping sticky grape juice. He licked the wound. He then decided the opening in the grape was a suitable size for his bizarrely tiny penis, and as he slowly began to enter the mushy wet flesh of the grape, a car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley, and two men came running toward the chef, guns COCKed. "Drop that grape!" the taller one shouted, his voice echoing off the cold looming walls.
Now rape is illegal in most countries, but as it turned out, grape rape was particularly illegal in France. The cops handcuffed the chef and then called for backup so they could take the grape to the station for questioning. The grape was taken to the hospital for stitches after that, and all was well for the grape.
It became famous. It had its own talk show for a while even but there wasn't enough funding to keep it going so it was canceled. The grape was eventually sent back to its home in the south of France. It liked it there, of course, but it lived the rest of its life in fear that behind every corner there was a horny chef waiting there. This was enough stress to significantly shorten anybody's life, so the grape passed away not too long after it was returned to its homey vineyard. It was buried there. In the grape grave yard. The grape yard.
It will not be forgotten.
