"Why are you called The Mango?" the man asked.
"I don't know," replied The Mango, looking with wonderment at the dark grey office and the intimidating man who sat across the desk from him.
"I see," said the man in a very condescending tone, as he viciously scribbled some nonsense on his clipboard. "Alright, that concludes my questions. You are free to go."
"When will I find out... if..." The Mango trailed off for want of an appropriately tactful word.
"Just wait outside on the turquoise bench," said the man in an annoyed tone.
"Thank you for your time," mumbled the utterly confused Mango as he closed the door behind him.
He surveyed the outer office. There were several benches, one was deep red, one was orangish-yellow, and one was turquoise. All three were bare. In fact, the entire outer office was bare. There were three white desks with grey swivel chairs. Flourescent lights beamed down from the ceiling and the tops of the walls. The Mango took a seat on the turquoise bench, which he found to be quite comfortable.
He considered his situation. He obviously did not have a clue where he was or why he was there. He knew that his name was The Mango, although he did not have a clue as to why. He had just had some sort of unsuccessful interview with a hostile man. It seemed likely that he had had some sort of memory failure.
The Mango pondered. Should he wait here? Not necessarily. It could very well be that the man who had told him to come and wait here was planning on killing him in a few short minutes. The Mango decided that this was entirely likely, and exited through the door between the red and yellow benches.
The Mango stood in a long white hallway. Screams could be heard. He trudged forward nonetheless. After a few minutes he noticed a door marked EXIT at the end of the hallway. He opened the door, and then walked down some stairs and through another door marked exit.
He now stood in blackness. It was nightime he supposed. His flesh began to peel off, and out oozed his bodily fluids. His bones collapsed into a pile, cushioned by his flesh. His flesh began to decay, and eventually his bones followed, until there was nothing left. The Mango's final thought was: "Perhaps I should've sat on that turquoise couch."