The SCP Experience - Low Hanging Fruit | SCP-5855

Episode Date: March 28, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-5855: Low Hanging Fruit This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5855, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author's work here: newpulptales.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's never too early to plan your summer story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. Bien-a-boree, embarked and profite. Embarque and celebrate. Rigolet.

Publié. Savoy. Admirate. And profite. Villaray, the voice that we love that we love. Art is suggestive. Nobody knows that better than artists. We pour our hearts and souls into the canvas, and wait for indecipherable markets to assess a value on the act of creation. I was lucky. At the beginning of my career, my landscape sold quickly at auctions, establishing my name. After that,

I experimented with more abstract art, which never drew as much money, but was always my passion. But then, several years ago, the art market plummeted. Suddenly, the portraits and landscapes that made the bulk of my salary stopped selling. I don't know why. Tastes change, patrons change. Whatever the reason, I had regressed back from successful to starving artist. Or at least I would have, if not for Jeanette. We had been together since our college years, and I proposed to her after my big break. Jeanette was always the more practical one. She did her best to keep me grounded,

giving me a reason not to spend all hours of the day laboring in my studio. She worked at a local advertising agency in the marketing department. Our careers were completely different, but we complimented each other. Until the day, my art stopped selling. It didn't happen overnight, of course. We thought I was just in a dry spell, and the markets would one day turn in my favor again. But that never happened.

Weeks turned into months and then years, fueling my insomnia and artistic block. On my third day, without even an hour of sleep, she suggested joining her firm. There was an opening in their advertisement department for graphic artists. I'm not a fucking corporate sellout. The words had erupted from a. like a volcano. I could see them floating in the air around us as the wedge between us widened. Immediately, I wished I could take it back. Jeanette didn't say a word. She just inhaled deeply, then exhaled through pinched lips, like she was trying to whistle but couldn't. It was what she

always did when she was annoyed, or, in this case, enraged. She stormed off to our bedroom before I could even apologize. With a heavy sigh, I slumped in my chair. It wasn't her fault. She was just trying to help. We had been together long enough to know that it would be better if I gave her time to calm down. I slept on the couch that night, with the glow of the television keeping me company. Insomnia makes time more fluid. A few minutes stretched into hours. The background nonsense of syndicated television acted as gray noise that buzzed. through my eyes. After repositioning myself for the thousandth time, I realized that the dark sky outside had lightened with splashes of the morning sun glistening through the clouds. I rose from

the couch and gave up on the prospect of sleep. Instead, I made my way to the kitchen. My throat was hoarse and dry, so I quickly filled a glass with water and downed it in a moment. Since I didn't have anything better to do. I helped myself to another when a scurrying sound drew my attention to the island and the kitchen center. The fruit bowl was stirring. Mice, I thought with disgust, and grabbed the cleaver from a drawer. We never had mice before, but then we never experienced a lot of new setbacks. Why shouldn't the gods add vermin to my suffering? I raised the cleaver high into the air when an apple flopped out from the basket and rolled across the wooden floor. The bowl immediately stopped shaking. I reached the cleaver toward the fruit and used the

flat end of the blade to rearrange several bananas and some oranges. But there was no mouse, nor anything else beneath the fruit. Had I really seen it moving? It wouldn't be the first time I hallucinated due to lack of sleep. I bent forward to pick up the apple, but it rolled away from me. Frowning, I tried again, but it moved once more. This time in the opposite direction. I stared at the apple as it rotated along at its base and fell on its back. Two bright, stubby legs sprang out from it, clad in the same color as its skin. A loud yelp escaped my lips as I jumped back, dropping the cleaver to the ground.

Blinking, I rubbed my eyes furiously, but the apple remained the same, standing on two legs and staring up at me. Taking a cautious step forward, I reached down. down, but it bolted away from me. I chased after it in the dark, knocking over chairs, swearing, and following the sign of tiny scurrying feet. Finally, I had it cornered when the lights snapped on and blinded me. Sam? Janette's voice cut through my blindness. What the hell are you doing? As my vision cleared, I saw Jeanette standing near the light

switch. Her bathrobe sinked in a tight knot. The kitchen was in complete disarray. The table tipped on its side and chairs were thrown about the room. I should have been terrified, but I beamed and brandished my hands as a giddy laugh built up from my throat. Jeannie, come here, you've got to see this. She frowned. My outburst from earlier was still fresh on her expression, but she walked over beside me. Looking down, she stared for several seconds and then looked back up. Did you throw an apple? What? The apple sat on its side, legless and completely ordinary once more. It had legs. It jumped out of the bowl and ran around the kitchen.

Jeanette's face twisted into annoyance, tinged with concern. She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, masking any other emotion with another mute whistle. I knew what she was going to say. Have you made a follow-up appointment with Dr. Holly? Dr. Holly was the psychologist I started seeing almost a year ago. I hadn't seen him in weeks. Therapy just made me feel more frustrated, especially when Holly suggested that maybe it was time for me to try a new career.

I swallowed my initial gut reaction, shook my head, and laughed. Must have been a dream. I felt something nagging at me, tugging me toward my studio. It had been so long that I nearly forgot. what it was. Inspiration. Sorry for waking you. I'm going to clean this up and then head into the studio. I've got an idea. Jeanette blinked, then slowly smiled. She hadn't heard me say those words in a long time. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and pressed her lips to mine. Try to get some sleep today, though, okay? She walked away, and after hearing our bedroom door

clothes, I immediately tidied up the kitchen. Then I picked up the apple and rushed to my studio, practically skipping. Dust lingered in the air as I walked through and set the apple on a stool for reference. I sat down at my easel and got to work. The shape of the apple was vivid in my mind, and I had spent hours practicing drawing fruit in my first art lessons. Its familiar form was quickly transferred to the page, but I paused when I started drawing the feet. What had they looked like again? A slight tapping sound came from the stool and I looked over. The apple now stood on its stubby legs again, tapping one foot impatiently.

Wait! I held up a hand. Can you hold that pose? The apple stopped and wobbled slightly on its feet, but it righted itself and stood upright. Its foot froze in mid-tap. Laughing, I sketched out the rest of the drawing, turning to the apple occasionally for reference. Although it didn't have a face to convey expression, it seemed excited to watch me work. I didn't sleep at all that day either.

I finished the painting in a single day, and as soon as the paint dried, I hailed a cab and went to my agent's office. He was surprised to see me, and was even more surprised when he looked at the painting. tapping a finger against his lips, he cocked his head at different angles as he examined my work. Definitely unique, as a praising gaze melted into a smile. I'll let you know if I hear of any offers, but I have a good feeling about this one. Welcome back, Sam. I heard from him again later that night. My painting had gone up for auction and was already fetching four figures.

The buzz was high, and he wouldn't be surprised if it got as high as five figures. He asked me if I would be interested in doing a series. When Jeanette came home, I was in the middle of grilling salmon and opening a bottle of wine. Her expression ignited with joy when I told her the news. But then she inhaled slowly when my deliveries came. Baskets and baskets of fresh fruit filled the kitchen of all sizes and varieties. Over the next few months, the fruit provided not just inspiration, but camaraderie. Pineapples would grow ears to listen to problems. The banana sprouted strong arms and massaged the knots out of my neck and shoulders, and the pairs blinked, revealing sympathetic and inquisitive eyes. I painted each of them, and each

sold for far more than the previous heights of my career. And all the while, Jeanette would stare and inhale slowly. God, I grew so sick of that. I know she means well, I said one day while a painting in the kitchen. But she doesn't understand. She's not an artist. She'll never fully understand. Sam? I froze at the sound of Jeanette's voice. Who are you talking to? I lowered my brush and put on my best fake smile. Myself, you know, crazy artists, right? It's either this or lopping off our ears. She strolled into the kitchen and craned her neck around my easel. On the canvas was the penciled sketch of an orange with a pair of smiling lips. Blinking, she looked at the kitchen counter. A matching orange sat at the center among the litany of citrus fruit. The lips had retreated

into itself as soon as she came into the room. Jeanette sucked in a breath, pinched her lips, and blew her breath out slowly. I kept smiling, even while my fist tightened around my brush. Sam, I really want you to make an appointment with Dr. Holly. Yeah, sure, of course. I turned back to my work and dipped the brush and paint. It's just a matter of trying to find the time. You know how busy I've been lately. Jeanette's eyes flashed with anger,

knowing my lies as well as I knew the signs of her annoyance. She turned on her heel, marched out the door, and slammed it behind her. You're right. She doesn't understand. The Orange's lips returned, but this time they frowned instead of smiled. But it's more serious than you know. She'll come around. I splotched the first splash of Orange onto the canvas.

She always does. Just because she doesn't see us doesn't mean we don't see her. As the Orange said this, the grapes all opened up with eyes of fury. We know what she does while you're creating our reflections. As if on cue, a watermelon rolled into the kitchen. Bulging biceps sprouted from its sides, holding up Jeanette's laptop. I picked it up and opened it, but let out a breath of relief when I saw the screen. It was locked.

I never had a reason to invade Jeanette's privacy. I was glad that I wouldn't be given the opportunity. I don't know her password. The orange smiled. It's your birthday. My hands shook as I typed in the familiar numbers, and the screen opened up. A new apple. but with the same legs as the first, ran across the kitchen counter.

It danced across the keyboard, opening up her emails and search history. My eyes bulged. She had been talking to Dr. Holly for weeks now. Her search history was filled with topics on how to get a family member committed. She'll never let us be together, Sam. But we have an idea. The orange rolled off the counter and into the waiting arms of the watermelon. The watermelon positioned the orange beside my ear.

It whispered its plan to me, and my mouth dropped open in horror. You know what you have to do, Sam. Tears filled my eyes, and I nodded. Yes, I knew what I had to do. I picked up the cleaver and sliced through the orange, cutting its smile in half. I screamed and rose and lowered my hand repeatedly, attacking every piece of fruit I could.

Pulp flew through the air. The citric acid stung my eyes as I saw. sobbed. When Jeanette opened the door, I was busy in the kitchen. A heaping bowl of fruit salad sat on the table, and I opened a bottle of wine. I kissed her deeply as she walked in and held her close. I've made an appointment to see Dr. Holly tomorrow, and I'm going to paint something else tonight. Jeanette's eyes beamed, and she pulled me in for another kiss before sitting at the table. She dug into the fruit salad, her mouth, savoring every bite. Then she coughed and brought her hands to her throat.

It throbbed and swelled like she had swallowed a baseball. Her stomach convulsed as the fruit rebelled inside her guts. I sipped my wine as two bulging arms ripped out through her clothes, spraying the table with blood. The hands remained there, drenched in gore as a smile opened up from her throat. I finished my meal, then grabbed my easel. and brushes. The greatest works of art are made through sacrifice. My friends understood this and sacrificed themselves for my next piece, my greatest creation. Sacrificing Jeanette was a small

price to pay in comparison. As I started laying the colors across the canvas, I inhaled deeply, then pinched my lips and exhaled slowly. I'm going to need more red. SCP 5855 is the collective designation for a variety of anomalous fruit bearing one or more human organs and appendages. SCP 5855 instances are sentient and ambulatory, repositioning themselves by rolling, hopping, or using their human limbs. SCP 5855 instances manifest in close proximity to individuals, hereafter, referred to as SCP 5855-A, who has, have artistic or creative backgrounds and are affected by one or more of the following. Severe sleep deprivation. Eye fever, hallucinogenic drugs, psychosis.

SCP-5855-A instances often deny that their perceptions of SCP 5855 are accurate, instead believing that they had misidentified non-anomalous fruit or were dreaming. This effect has been deemed non-anomalous. Gellee, Pugent for 15 minutes. We're going to like it's the

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