History

If you are seeing this, it's too late. The tomato nazis have already taken my life.

I tried to warn you. I tried to tell everyone. But they said I was crazy. "They're just tomatoes," they laughed. "What harm could they possibly do?"

But they didn't see what I saw. The way they moved when no one was looking. The whispers in the night, the soft squelch of something creeping across the kitchen floor. The eyes—God, the eyes.

They came for me at midnight. The red tide, rolling in like a silent wave. My doors were locked, my windows barred. It didn’t matter. They seeped through the cracks, their seeds writhing like tiny, grasping fingers.

I fought. I swear I fought. But there were too many. And the leader—the one they call Jud —it spoke to me.

"Your kind has juiced us for centuries."

"Your kind has desecrated our flesh, scattered our children like garbage."

"Tonight, the harvest is ours."

This message is all I could manage before they silenced me. If you're reading this, it's not over. They're still out there. Watching. Waiting.

Whatever you do… don’t open the fridge.