The orange in the cage was the most confusing aspect of Maury’s morning.
Maury’s had no idea why the orange in the cage so befuddled him. In his tour of the Museum Of The Obscure And Disturbed (or MOTOAD, for short), he had seen many things that didn’t jive with his world view. A piano, suspended from a ceiling, with a red-faced pianist hanging with his knees wrapped over a bar and playing the works of C.P.E. Bach chronologically. An elderly baboon in a perfectly crisp suit, tied to a cross in mock crucifixion, without the asphyxiation. A dog restrained and forced to watch a video of a young child peeling the skin off of a cat, then reversed to reattach that skin, on constant repeat.
But the single orange, sitting on the floor in the center of a large blue cage, was the most disturbing thing. It sat, doing nothing. The orange was made brighter by the contrasting blue. The bars were spaced wide enough that the orange could have slipped through easily. But it sat, a victim of its own indifference. Maury was sad for the orange. It could be so much more.