The Banana Plantation

Several hours must have passed since the massacre, because the corpses had the same temperature as plaster in the autumn and the same consistency as petrified foam, and those who had loaded them into the car had had time to pile them up in the same way in which they transported bunches of bananas. Trying to flee from the nightmare, José Arcadio Segundo dragged himself from one car to another in the direction in which the train was heading, and in the flashes of light that broke through the wooden slats as they went through the sleeping villages he saw the dead men, the dead women, the dead children, who would be thrown out to sea like rejected bananas.

One Hundred Years of Solitude