I unwrapped the green Opal Fruit and tossed it lightly into my mouth, assuming that this would be an Opal Fruit like any other Opal Fruit.
In my complacency, I allowed my attention to wander to other tasks. This turned out to be my greatest of errors, for the Opal Fruit moved around in my mouth in a non-obvious fashion, exploiting my moment of least concentration to make a dive for the left cheek as the teeth came down.
Searing pain. My hand shot to my mouth. I left the room abruptly, aiming for the bathroom, where I could suffer my ordeal in sweet sweet solitude.
I spat into the basin. Blood.
I had bitten my tongue and made it bleed.
Being away from my desk, I didn’t instantly have Google to hand, so I had to improvise the treatment for a bleeding tongue. I applied some pressure with a clean forefinger, and when the flow had been staunched, I used cold water to wash my mouth out and remove the excess.
The pain eventually dulled to an irritating ache, and 24 hours (or so) later, I’m starting to feel a bit more human again. No segments of tongue were permanently lost, and I have faith that I will make a full physical recovery.
However, my ordeal still haunts me, and the Opal Fruits taunt me, and a flaunty thing flaunts me. A strawberry flavoured Opal Fruit sits, unwrapped, on my table top, beckoning me with its soft curves.
“Hey there,” she says, “Do you think you can handle me?”
I jibber and jabber back incoherently.
“I know what you are thinking,” she says, “If I succumb to her fruity wiles, will I be vulnerable to that pain all over again?”
I splutter and clutter.
“Oh, you silly boy,” she laughs, tossing her hair and fluttering her eyebrows, purring seductively from somewhere deep in her throat, “I don’t bite.” She laughs at how incredibly fucking witty she is.
Incensed by her cockiness, I toss her lightly into my mouth.
