A bowl of fruit sits atop a polished mahogany table. The fruits are glossy and unblemished. It is an inviting scene. Excitedly, I stride forwards, eager to taste the sweet flavours and juices contained by each fruit. I reach out, my fingers closing around the smooth exterior of a chartreuse-green apple, and lift it to my mouth. I close my eyes, ready to savour the delicious sweetness, and take a bite.

Fake. It’s all fake. I choke, coughing out a wad of spit-covered polystyrene. Everything is fake, and I hate myself for not realising sooner. I should have known. I should have known, because this always happens. Just as things seem so beautiful, so perfect, the truth is revealed, and they’re nothing but lies. And you don’t need to be a genius to know that I’m talking about more than fruit.