Apples Are Weird

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic

When they got to their tree, they picked Granny Smith and Rosalie right off the tree. They threw them in the basket and kept picking. Rose got scared and whispered to the apples around her, “What’s happening? Why’re they pickin’ everyone?”

“Okay, Granny Smith! I’ma comin’!” Rosalie shouted, in her thick Kentucky accent, from her tree house.

“Oh, peaches! Just get down here and help your poor ol’ Granny carry these leaves in!” Granny Smith replied.

“Y’all know I love stayin’ up here! Why do I always have tuh come down an’ help you with your laundry? It’s just a few leaves!” She said back, climbing down the ladder.

“Y’all should know bettuh! Ise been doin’ this laundry for yuh since youse just a blossom!” Granny told her.

“I’m sorry, Granny, Ise just thinkin’ bout how this bruise is just gettin’ bigger an’ bigger.” Rose said apologetically.

“I’ll take y’all to the doctor’s office tomorrow to get yuh checked out! Now don’t yuh worry! Y’all be fine, just fine.” Just as she said so, Granny had the pain come back – how Rose’s parent’s died, while Rose thought about herself, just without the bruise on her side.

She kept thinking about her parents, too. She thought back to when they were alive: when they weren’t squished to juice. Just then she saw a human walking towards them. She then consequently jumped back up to her stem and held on with all her might hoping that it would click back into position; thus was the normal way for apples to not seem strange hopping around going about their own business in front of humans. They had to hide in plain sight so they would not be discovered. When she finally closed her eyes, she noticed that the humans were carrying bushel baskets.

Granny put her stem up to her closed, un-lipped mouth for Rose not to make a sound. Rosalie had been through this many times, but this time the humans were picking almost every apple they saw. They were barely even checking them for bruises, just for worm holes this time Rose guessed.

When they got to their tree, they picked Granny Smith and Rosalie right off the tree. They threw them in the basket and kept picking. Rose got scared and whispered to the apples around her, “What’s happening? Why’re they pickin’ everyone?”

“Rosie? Is thatch’ you?” whispered Jonathan Gold, her boyfriend.

“Oh, Jon! I can’t believe this!” Rose cried “We’ve been picked! And I have the biggust bruise on my side!”

“C’mon Rosie, stop your cryin’ you’ll get us found out!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just this is what they did when my parents were taken away!” She started to cry again when Granny Smith shoved her way through a bunch of other apples trying to find Rose.

“Shh! Rosie! Stop your wining! I’ma comin’!” Granny Smith quietly shouted from the other side of the bushel.
“Oh, grammy! Your still alive? I thought you’d die if you’re picked?” Rosie replied through her tears.

“I thought I’d die by now, too, Rosie! But that ain’t happenin’ now, is it?”

* * *

Being at the grocery store was torture. Rosalie hated it. She had to be examined by giant creatures picking her up, rolling her in their greasy, pale-skinned hands, only to be put back down because of her bruise. That was not worst part of it; the pears were her enemies—the way they made fun of her because of the disease. Not only the pears, whereas the newer red-delicious apples who were bred to not have bruises.

She saw more coming: they had just turned on the lights, the staff had. A boy and his mother were walking lazily toward the fruit section. The boy examined each apple starting with Jon. He then moved on, adding him to their plastic bag, with more apples she had not known before. He afterward lifted Rosalie’s body up, looked at it closely and plopped her in the bag. She was overjoyed at the fact he actually picked her, and before any pears.

“I can’t believe that we’re still together!” she whispered, excitedly, to Jon.

“Me neither,” he responded, politely.

“I’m just worried ‘bout granny,” she told him.

The child and his mother then grabbed four pears, a bunch of bananas, a lemon, a lime, some grapes, a kiwi, two tomatoes, and a pomegranate. They were then bought, along with many other frozen foods, and other grocery items.

When they got to their new home, which was a large country home, they were dumped into a large basin, rinsed through some cold water, and tossed into the largest bowl Rosalie had ever seen in her short, three-month life. It was wooden, round in shape, and had a small knot in the center.

Jon lay next to her along with the large pomegranate; she later learned her name was Alice. She did not want to get too close in friendship to Alice, for she heard the boy, exited to do so, that he just wanted to cut it open and eat all of the seeds, and his mother told him that he could do so tomorrow. The boy did just that. The whole fruit bowl witnessed it; it was a gruesome sight, the skin tearing, all the seeds spilling in the plugged-up sink. He put the seeds in a separate, yet much smaller bowl, which was blue with white stripes.

When the boy (they soon learned his name was James) and his mother (just mom to all of the fruit and the boy) would leave the home, the fruit would come to life chatting and napping, or the younger ones could choose to learn from the elders, whom they called “teachers” how to not be the one that gets eaten, how to survive, and so on. Rosalie chose to spend her time with Jon, or the grapes, who Rosalie thought were the cutest things she had ever seen, and loved talking with them.

They did this, every day, trying to see who can get the farthest from the bowl without the humans noticing when they get home, which was very stupid because they could be discovered at any time. James actually almost discovered how the bananas were slowly being unattached to each other.

Whenever Rosalie traveled to the other side of the walnut fruit bowl to see the grapes, she had to pass the pears, who always made fun of her for her bruise, which turned out to be a stress fracture which got larger, deeper, and darker every time they did this. Jon pointed this out for her, which made her feel better that she actually knew what caused it. Jon tried to defend her, since he loved the grapes, too. His shielding would not work. He broke up with her. Rosalie tried so hard to meet another apple. She tried to meet the humans even, but she could not bring herself to do it; she moved to the grape side overnight so the humans would not notice and hoped the pears would not make fun of her that time.

Rosie listened to all of the humans’ conversations; she listened to when Mom was yelling over the phone to “George” and telling him not to ever call again. Later that day she took a nap using one of the grapes as a pillow. She had a nightmare about Granny Smith being peeled in front of Rosalie and her parents, but awoke, screaming, not louder than the squeak of a mouse, but loud enough so that James heard her. He actually thought it was a mouse. He then saw an apple. That apple was Rose. She was hopping, trying to hide, but realized what she was doing and just shut up and stood there, James staring at her.

She was not really inside the fruit bowl, really, she was more or less on the edge, hopping off and around it, to behind, nearest the wall. He picked her up and said, “Was that you?” being a thirteen-year-old child, he was in a transition stage of believing in stupid things.

“Um, I guess so,” she replied civilly.

“Ha, I wouldn’t have guessed you of having a southern accent!”

Submitted: March 14, 2012

© Copyright 2022 pat5005. All rights reserved.

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