This week, 
No way, I thought. Not me, not my writing style. Then I read J.D. Salinger's A Perfect Day for Banafish", and found, somewhere between
Below you will find the energy-driven tale begun by
Hunt Down the Bananafish
Boots clamor with the machinery humming. Iron walkways, under stomping feet, ache despite losing the senses a while ago. Grunts echo and bounce off the marble-walls and iron-ceiling. The grunting marchers ache for purpose, as they can stand no more of their shoulders’ acidity caused by hauling a crate so long.
"Hush, we near the Colonel-"
"Bob, we’ve been on the USSS Milky Way for how long? It’s pronounced ker-nel - not co-lo-nol."
"Keep your peace, Jerry. Anyways."
Raised arms, Bob’s hands knocked three knocks, every knock so polite yet firm. His legs, being precautious, retreated; doors squeaking due to leaving their closed state, the Colonel with a pipe and cocked hat steps out. Steadying the shades, the pipe soon found itself hugging the floor.
"Master-Sergeant Bob, how’d you... oh He would be very proud, yet let’s not yammer on about that."
"Indeed, and we tracked the coordinates-"
"Coordinates! I’ll patch you in sonny. Please yank that box in now. Tell me, how’d you got this potassium-skin?"
"I’ll take this one Bob, go input the coordinates. Colonel, the details matter not, but our white gloves are still white. Anyways, coordinates should be in now. Say, when does that bounty expire?"
"I still cannot believe it, we’ll be rich! We’ll have the Bananafish finally in our hands and the bounty just renewed and quadrupled its payout!"
Frothing came racing out and spreading about the Colonel’s mouth, Master-Sergeant Bob’s and Jerry’s eyes picked up on the bubble-infection. Bob’s hands signaled to Jerry if now was the time to act, but that time to act was inappropriate as Jerry’s hands signed. Bob’s ears, hearing the awkwardness, compelled the voice-box to utter.
"Would you like to do the honours of telling the other ships?"
"Ah, sorry. Anyways, the coordinates are already sent - now just an announcement... Ahem... Attention crew, this is the Colonel speaking. Right now coordinates have been uploaded and you may have a question. My answer: we found the Bananafish and we’re going to hunt! I repeat, we’re hunting down the Bananafish... I muted my mic, but do you hear that Master-Sergeant?"
"Ecstasy."
"And a hero, for that’s what you and your platoon are. When we’re back, I’ll make sure you get your due honours."
Bob’s and Jerry’s eyes deadlock together on the other, lips arching high and their minds ridding of any misdeeds. Turning their heads to the ship’s front view, the image of starry seas became interrupted as the view warps to a tunnel of passing light spires that raced with the ship. However, the moment was fleeting and the armada of spacecraft found themselves floating above the Bananafish’s home.
"Master-Sergeant’s Platoon, come ‘ere. You’ll be my personal convoy ‘til the mission is over. So sit in your own Orbital Drop Pods and await blastoff."
Sat they were, their armour covered with more weapons than plating and a soldiery hoorah echoing. The clock ticked, yet they were ejected soon and all saw the Nature below.
The hunt has begun.
Bananafish Denouement
A farm cadre had covered the bottom of the dismal plain with ten tons of banana seed. This was a labor to which the planters had been born. The work would consume their days until they died, for these were members of the banana sower caste. They had no say in where the fields of banana would be located. The sole, highly developed skill of the banana sower caste was to plant, to lay a foundation for the crop that would be collected nine months later by the harvester caste.
Bananafish planet had been discovered eons before. The pioneer caste had searched through galaxies for a perfect environment to grow bananas. The settler caste then established bananafish colonies, where the exquisitely organized bananafish society could thrive.
There were thirty castes in all. The lower twenty-nine existed so that the ultimate bananafish, the specimens that expressed the perfect essence of bananafishdom, could live in leisure and perpetuate bananafish culture.
This was a culture dedicated to the propagation and consumption of bananas.
Once, a lower-caste child...perhaps she was from the trash disposal caste...asked a blasphemous question, "Why do we need all these bananas?" She had taken note of the detritus accumulated by the bananafish leisure caste. And she had observed the great labor required to sow, harvest and deliver bananas to this caste. Her question received no response.
Then the child asked questions that sealed her doom: "Why don't the leisure bananafish do anything? Why do we do everything for them?"
The querulous child disappeared. No one ever learned what became of her, but after those words were uttered, an uneasiness settled upon the lower twenty-nine castes. A rumor was whispered that the mechanic caste was in communication with a foreign entity. This rumor died quickly, for all who repeated it also disappeared.
It came to pass one day that a formation of foreign craft appeared in bananafish airspace. Bananafish sentinels did not sound the alarm. The alien fleet landed and jack-booted soldiers exited the craft. It might be said that the intruders received a warm reception by the assembled crowd on bananafish planet.
The lead alien soldier stood boldly in front of his aircraft and announced, "We are on a hunt for the bananafish." He was at first met with silence. Then, almost as though they had practiced the gesture, representatives of the twenty-nine lower castes raised their arms and pointed to the palace of leisure.
"There," a chorus of voices rang out. "There you will find your fatted and useless bananafish".
At that moment, for the first time in their adult lives, the lower caste bananafish sat down, in the middle of the day. With work waiting to be done, they decided to take a break