The Unstoppable Blueberry

Arthur lived a life dedicated to not dying. From raw kombucha enemas to thrice-daily full-body sanitation rituals, he embraced every prophylactic, preventative, and anti-anything measure known to man, and a few known only to slightly unhinged internet forums. He built a hermetically sealed, allergen-free bunker in his backyard, filtering his air, water, and even his thoughts for any hint of negativity. "Mortality," he'd declare, peering out from behind his triple-layered face mask, "is merely a suggestion for the unprepared." He scoffed at those who dared to eat street food, ride bicycles, or even breathe unfiltered air. Arthur was going to live forever, or at least until he was 200. He was 97, spry as a man half his age, thanks to his strict regimen of nutrient pastes and daily stretches he performed in a zero-gravity chamber (just in case of a surprise gravity attack). His diet was impeccable, a fortress of superfoods designed to repel any illness. One Tuesday, while meticulously portioning his morning smoothie – a vibrant concoction of kale, spirulina, and a single, perfectly ripe, organic, locally sourced, hand-picked blueberry – Arthur felt a tickle. A cough, a gasp. He collapsed, clutching his throat, his eyes wide with a desperate, understanding horror. The paramedics arrived, marveling at his pristine, germ-free home. The official cause of death: asphyxiation. Arthur, the man who defied death for nearly a century, choked on a single, perfectly healthy, antioxidant-rich blueberry. His last, gurgling thought, if one could distill it: "But... it was supposed to be a SUPERFOOD!"