@mr-r0b0t

Little Arthur was different from the other peanuts in his brown, textured body. He could hear the crackle of the field underfoot. He knew when the crowd erupted with cheers. And he was acutely aware of his impending fate—he was, in fact, the one thing about to go into a pocket and never be seen again. "Look at this crowd," Arthur thought as he drifted in the breeze near home plate. "People clapping and cheering. They're so loud." A pitcher threw a warm baseball toward the dugout area. Arthur tumbled, spinning through the air, landing softly on loose dirt. "Hi there!" a voice called out. Someone's hand reached down and picked up his friend, the other peanut in this pile. "That one looks nice," they said, reaching for Arthur. Arthur felt a strange sensation—a mix of fear and excitement—as fingers gently scooped him up. His consciousness drifted as he was placed in a plastic bag and walked toward the concession stand. "Which one do you want?" asked the man in a red shirt who wore a baseball cap. He pointed to Arthur, then to a bag of boiled peanuts, and then to another bag with water. Arthur nodded toward the red shirt man—he was his friend from when he played catch as a baby. The bag closed around him, but Arthur wasn't scared. He was going on an adventure. The man pulled out a small bag of peanuts and opened it to his mouth. "Thanks, buddy," he said, catching the last few in his hand and eating them one by one. As Arthur's lips were pressed against the bag, Arthur felt something warm and soft press up from below. He was being... enjoyed? No, wait, that wasn't right. It was delicious! Yes, he realized as his consciousness wavered into warmth and nothingness, that a peanut who knew himself was worth more than one that didn't. The game had just begun, and somehow, Arthur knew he'd be watching it from the inside out.

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