Introduction

On a peculiar Thursday, I was asked about my story as The Avocado Thief.

After much consideration, I relayed my story over the course of a few hours. I was then asked to submit the story to paper. Now I sit here, under the orange-yellow light, processing my thoughts onto withered papers. Perhaps I hope for an audience, for the story I will tell is a great one… Perhaps I simply hope to see Her again.

A few things I must define, before settling into the story:

Me—I was a middle class-citizen in a small town, and for two and a half years, I was known as The Avocado Thief.
Avocado—a large, pear shaped fruit with a rough leathery skin, smooth oily edible flesh, and a large stone.
Before the story—

I was born into a family of four in a small village known for its great avocado production. All throughout my boyhood, I had no particular inclination towards avocados. I grew up a well-liked, respected, and, most importantly, regular boy: bright and clever and energetic and humble. That is, until one fateful day, whereupon an avocado had presented itself to me. I do not know how the transformation had happened, but I had gone from a shy, smart boy to a feared, brooding thief.

A thief! Surely I was not worthy of such a title. After all, it was nothing that I had stolen; the avocadoes only neatly displayed themselves before me, and they were under possession of no person. Nevertheless, I was known as The Avocado Thief, and punished accordingly. Starved, not of nutrition, but of human interaction… Whipped, not by barbed leathers, but by isolation… Yet, I can almost admit I did not detest it. My teachers did not acknowledge me, but I studied diligently. My parents spoke with me still. And though my dearest sister showed contempt for my poor soul, and though I spent much of my time under the pursuit of avocados, it was almost a peaceful life. For two years, this was the life I lived.

My story begins here.