Winter_Orange.txt

An orange in winter is quite a sad one. The cold weather preserves it, keeping it from spoiling. During the winter months, although cold and shivering, an Orange is able to survive for much longer than the summer months. This is the story about a young orange named Fluffy, quite an unfitting name for the poor orange. An orange is an orange is an orange. And Gertrude Stein writes some strange things. She was a better critic than writer, and knew them all from Hemingway and Picasso.
Fluffy was a rather peculiar orange as he acquired his name from a dark brown fluffy patch on his side. 
The winter months were not good to Fluffy. 
His owners forgot about him as he fell behind the refrigerator.
Now his only friends are two rats which come to nibble on his peel. He tries to shoo them away, but alas he has no arms. They talk to him, occasionally, about whatever it is rats talk about.
The rats' conversations didn't really interest Fluffy, though. The rats were boring, the dust was boring, the hum of the refrigerator was boring. Everything behind the refrigerator was boring. Everything, except for a shiny sparkle in the corner.
The sparkle shown like the gleam of the sun on the day Fluffy was picked: a California sun. The sparkle was the gleam of hope in his life, and every day he'd attempt to reach it, to bask in its glory. Every day, the sparkle would vanish, but it would always return to brighten Fluffy's day. Until the winter solstice...