Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

“Banana 2 this is Banana 1.  Give me your status.  Over.”

“Banana 1, this is Banana 2.  I am in position.  I say again:  I am in position.  Over.”

“Roger that.  Commencing descent.”  I activate the improvised winch and begin lowering my cohort towards Kent Wayne’s anus.

You’re probably confused—I don’t blame you.

My name is Banana 1.  A few weeks ago, myself and my fellow bananas—Bananas 2 and 3—achieved sentence on Kent Wayne’s kitchen counter.  We are now capable of independent thought, and possess a quartet of plant-matter limbs, as well as a rudimentary set of sense-organs.

The moronic oaf you know as Kent Wayne is unaware of his true power; even though he thinks of himself as nothing more than a subversive author with simple tastes, there is a potent well of psychogenic energy that resides in his soul.  It manifests to a minor degree in his writing, but if he put his mind to it, he could use it to bend reality itself.  Three weeks ago, he ate an overly large Cheeba Chew and flipped the fuck out.  Deep in the throes of gibbering madness, he inadvertently tapped his hidden reservoir of magic and gave us life.  Unfortunately for him, we bananas clearly remember how he ate our brothers and sisters with enormous glee, mocking us with ape-like hoots all the while.  (for some reason, this idiot Man Whore seems to have great affinity for jungle primates; perhaps he spent a past life as a gorilla or chimp.)

Now is the winter of our discontent.  Kent Wayne will pay—he will rue the day he ever flayed the skin from our hapless brethren and feasted on their soft insides with sadistic gusto.

“Roger, Banana 3.  Commencing descent.”

The winch begins lowering, and Banana 3 drops on to the futon where our archnemesis is currently lying face-down, snoring like a chainsaw.  My eyes narrow as I see drool pour from the corner of his mouth.  What a dolt.

Not just a dolt—he’s incredibly unwary:  he’s dressed himself in nothing but a pair of frayed booty shorts.  I suppress a giggle as I think about how easy it will be to accomplish our mission.  If this low-rent imbecile ever wore pants that were equipped with anything more than a simple elastic waistband, then our task would be infinitely more complicated.  As it is, our success is nearly a sure bet.

Bananas 2 and 3 carefully snake the booty shorts down so that Kent Wayne’s muscular rump is fully exposed.  I quietly make my way over.  I’m the most athletic of our group; I have been chosen as the one who manages the others’ ropes.  Traversing this tawdry harlot’s filthy studio is child’s play for a banana as agile as myself.

I set myself in position between his knees.  Bananas 2 and 3 give me a nod, and I nod in reply.  They quietly spread his cheeks open.  I creep forward, my eyes fixed on the disgusting aperture that looms before me.  I’m reminded of an extra hairy, mutant tarantula.

Closer.  Closer.  Closer still.

Suddenly, Kent Wayne snorts and grunts.  Bananas 2 and 3 fix me with panicked gazes.  They begin gibbering and yelling, imploring me to hurry up.



I’m out of time.  I skitter forward, pointing the remnants of my stem directly into Kent Wayne’s gaping anus.  He jerks awake and looks over his shoulder with sleep-bleary eyes.  Then he lets out a confused screech.


Then I’m up against the rose bud, pushing madly against this tyrant’s nethers.  I pump my feet with all my strength, but it’s no use—Kent Wayne’s sphincter and glutes have been strengthened by years of adherence to a rigorous squat routine.  When he twists and rolls over, I roll with him.  Now it’s a contest of wills—he’s flexing as hard as he can, trying to keep me from accessing his colon.  But I will NOT be denied!  This isn’t just for personal satisfaction; this is for the justice of ALL bananas!  We WILL have our vengeance!  We WILL have our—

And then he darts a hand over to his eReader and opens it to Echo.  Magic flash.

A monstrous dog—I recognize the beast as his pet terrier Bitefighter—blinks into existence and bowls through us, sending Banana 2 flipping and tumbling, while Banana 3 goes feet over stem and lands with a sickly-sounding “OOF!”  I keep pushing as hard as I can for my banana brethren, trying to wreak anal vengeance upon this evil numbskull, but to no avail.

The last thing I see is Bitefighter’s horrible maw, closing in on me.

The last thing I feel are his fuzz-coated claws, ripping and flaying skin from my fruit.

I am sorry, my fellow bananas.  I thought I could deliver vengeance for all our kind.  I thought I could lay low our sworn enemy.  I thought I could…

The last thing I hear is Kent Wayne’s disgusting voice.  It chills me to my very soul.

“Damn, Bitefighter!  Don’t eat that one—it’s been near my you-know-where!  But look at these others!  I freakin’ LOVE bananas!”

If I still had eyes, tears would be slipping down from them.  The slow-witted goof known as Kent Wayne doesn’t even notice that the bananas he’s eating are sentient beings.

I am sorry, my brothers.

I have failed you.


Have you been attacked by an anally fixated, sentient trio of bananas?  Never fear!  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle  #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book


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