The melon was round, contradicting what he had heard about the oval-ness of melons, and it served to represent a globe here: a sphere of influence for all who dwelt on the planet’s surface and mined its fruitful interior full of juicy assets.
That old song about a shy melon wouldn’t stop echoing in his mind as he rotated the fruit between his hands, and stretched out the allegory over a greater distance than his fingers could ever have spanned. Ideas seeded from that melon bursting with pips flew across the room as if on tiny wings and recalled paintings of Cupid as a baby cherub, fertilizing the heart with romantic and sexual notions that had nothing whatsoever to do with a melon.
But still he held up the melon, used it to represent the world, drew on its rind in felt tip pen and spoke to his students about obscure abstractions that are recognized the world over.
Channelled from Ino. This one is not included in the collection of her microfictions, but it will be in the next one.