Plum Fiction
by
Jean Daniels

Prudohm P.I. -- Your average prune. Maybe a little smarter than most. Some consider him very prunesome by prune standards. He considers himself a regular prune, a prune's prune, a ladies prune. But, it's no use getting sweet on him, he's not the pruning type.

This day was no different than yesterday and like any other day until...she walked in. Dark and sultry, plump and juicey. The kind of prune you don't take home to mama. She said her name was Prunella Orchard. She was sobbing. Seems her husband might be taking up with some fancy prune. Prudhom said he'd take her case, but never saw it coming....someone was going home in a crate!

Prudhom followed the guy and sure enough he was having a fling with a shiney-cheeked plum. There he was watching the love fruits when...BOINK...right on the noggin! Some overgrown raisin sideblinded him. He woke to the smell of fresh fruit. Prunella was sitting next to him, performing first aide on his bruised cheek. She said the cops found him out cold and smelling of prune juice. They checked his coat and found her name and number....that's why she was there...or so she said. Looking into her violet eyes Prudhom couldn't help wondering what a ripe fruit like her was doing with a dried up loser like her husband. She could've had her pick of the crop. He hated to giver her the bad news. Somehow, there was more to this story than a little fruit stand fling. It was all too purple...and fuzzy....very fuzzy.

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The Prune Copyright 2001, Jean Daniels
The Prune Copyright 2001, FableVision