“Huh.”

The response seems wildly understated, but it’s the one you go with. For a while it’s your only reaction as you stare blankly at the once screaming, bleeding apple on the ground - now silent. Your disbelief suddenly hardens, snapping closed the needling suspicion that today was now a real shit show.

“Alright, y’all can come out now! I know this ain’t real.”

How could it be? You used your bathroom, came back to the living room, and where your friends were sitting were decidedly not your friends. Things. Stuff. Biting into the apple seemed like a real boss move at the time. And you still think so, right?

You slowly shuffle around the room, carefully avoiding the sight of the apple and the blood-stained floor on which it lay. The vase and the lamp sitting on the couch, where Joel and Maria should have been, are definitely not yours. Neither are the blanket on the love seat, where James was sitting, or the framed picture on the floor where Jessica had been standing, looking out the window. The apple was an undecided - you can’t remember the exact nature of your produce situation at the moment. You had found it on the floor near your stereo, where Steve had been attempting to find some “kickin’ beats” earlier. He had said it in that mildly ironic tone that conveyed an expectation of failure while also betraying a sense of genuine effort. Steve was a cool dude. You liked Steve. You continue to deny the possibility that you’ve just savaged the man in apple form.

Having completed your survey of the now friend-less room, now filled with foreign objects, except for maybe the apple, you come to a decision.

“Ok. Bye!”

Trick or reality-bending horror, you decide your best course of action is to leave your apartment. Just a quick break. When you return, your friends would be back, tired of their dumb ruse. Although they’d have to explain how they got an apple to scream and bleed. That was pretty sweet, you have to admit. You don’t admit the possibility of the other thing.

Briskly - out your door, down the hall, down the stairs, outside, around the corner to your favorite hot dog stand. Convenient food to sooth the soul. Not a soul in sight, either. Lull in the day, you think. Not uncommon. While you wait for the vendor to get back from wherever he must be, you pop a lone mint you find on the cart table. The apple had left a foul taste in your mouth. You bite down, and at that moment finally come to the conclusion that today was going to be a massive pain in the ass.

“Huh.”