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An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 7:00 am
by Brian

An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 7:00 am
by Brian
Write a story from the point of view of an apple, sitting in a fruit basket on your kitchen counter, observing life around it.

You can post your response (750 words or fewer) here.

Re: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 11:22 am
by wannabeabard
Why did the lady even buy me? I’ve been in this fruit basket over a week, haven’t moved in four days, and I’m getting a mushy spot on my underside. The lady’s brats don’t even like my kind. Oh, they love the other varieties: Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, Gala, Empire, Macs, and Cortlands. But give them a Granny Smith and they pucker up and whine.

Sure, she’s trying to expose them to new tastes, but she knew none of us would be eaten before we rotted. I’ve seen the arguments she has with each kid – she’s trying, but they just want sweet fruit, nothing tart, tangy, or adventurous. So here we sit, rapidly becoming unsuitable for human consumption.

That’s what we were made for, you know. To be eaten. It’s our highest and best use. Oh, it’s nice to be admired for our looks. The lady’s artist friend appreciates us for that. He set us up in the center of the table and painted our portraits. But what an apple craves is to be held, bitten, chewed, swallowed, and sumptuously enjoyed. The artist doesn’t do that, though he does appear to hold and enjoy the lady on occasion.

But no one is holding us. No one is biting into our green skins or tasting our tart, crisp flesh. And now we wither every day, our green skins turning browner, our crisp tartness slowly becoming stale and mealy. No one will enjoy us now, especially when they pick us up and see the soft spots. The soft spots attract fruit flies, and fruit flies lead the way to the compost pile.

It’s just a few at first, buzzing lightly, almost breezily, about the kitchen. They always go for the bananas and peaches first. Word spreads, more fruit flies come, and they move on to the nectarines, then us. There are a few Galas on the bottom of the basket that the lady’s brats don’t know about and never will, as long as we’re on top of them. The Galas are scared because they rot faster than we do, and if we aren’t eaten, they won’t be either. We try to help them by speaking encouraging words, but they know the end is near, and they know it doesn’t look pretty.

The fruit flies are talking amongst themselves, sharing information about which of us are soft and accessible. We can hear them, but they don’t care – they know we are defenseless. I think they do it on purpose, just to terrorize us before they bore into our flesh. It is a wonderful thing to be eaten by a human, or even by a horse, anything that has the capacity of enjoyment. But to be eaten by insects, especially fruit flies, is not only undignified and embarrassing, it is painful because it takes so long. Each of us is a study of Prometheus in green, golden, or red miniature, unable to move and having our insides consumed by a predator day after day.

At least we will have respite when we rot, or when our flesh is gone completely. Unlike Prometheus, we are not immortal, nor does our flesh grow back each night like his liver. Yet chained we are, here in place, and chained we stay, hoping, yearning to be enjoyed, not merely consumed. I see the lady setting a pot to boil, a large pot like the one she uses when scalding tomatoes before canning them.

Fear not, my brothers, the flies will not have you! No, not one of you will fall prey to those vile scavengers. We shall yet be enjoyed! For behold – she is making applesauce!

Re: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 11:35 am
by Janet_B
It sucks being an apple. We get no respect.

Bananas, on the other hand, get treated like royalty. They get their own personal hammock, for godssake! I guess the delicate bunch has to be protected from bruising.

What am I, chopped liver? Just because we apples have more staying power than those zipper-peeled imports doesn’t mean we don’t have feelings. If you drop me, do I not bruise?

We apples are far more versatile than bananas. You’d think that would count for something. Sure you can make bread, cake, pudding and cream pie from a banana, but did you ever hear of banana crisp…or banana cider…or banana-sauce? I didn’t think so.

Anyway, you should remember that “apple a day” thing. Your grandmother was right about that, you know.
(Word count: 736 with spaces; 611 with no spaces)

RE: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 1:33 pm
by EnglishGEEK3
If I have to sit in this rotten basket any longer, I myself will spoil! Do these people not know that an apple a day keeps the doctor away? Day in and day out these people scour the kitchen for the sugary junk foods. Its funny how I sit here watching them spoil themselves on that crap. I would never do such a thing. They’re wasting away on the salty, sugary, preservative-based snacks, and I waste away just sitting here. What do the potato chips have that I don’t have? Those aren’t even made of real potatoes. I have every bit of crunch as they do. I’m much sweeter too! They aren’t as all natural and healthy as they say they are. The big companies know the people will buy anything if they think it’s healthy. The people have to have “healthy junk food” now. They won’t pick up a truly healthy, all-natural, home-grown red delicious apple nowadays, will they? I know I have what people what, if they’d just give me a chance. They wouldn’t waste away eating me.

RE: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 4:57 pm
by Dee mac
An apple’s point of view

I am just a plain red apple sitting in this fruit basket with a couple of my family nesting on top of me. It’s not bad really, I am out of the wind and rain, and it’s warm and cozy here.
The things that happen in this kitchen are sometimes frightening. I saw an orange the other day get cut up into pieces and I thought “I’m glad that’s not me”. Another time, an apple was dropped on the floor and put into a paper bag, I have no idea where it went.
In the morning there is so much going on in here. The whole family comes in to eat and the Mrs. will get cereal and fruit for the children. She puts the coffee on and then starts to make lunches for the school children. Then she gets the kids off to school and starts to get more food out to make dinner.
In the meantime her husband comes in and gets his coffee and toast or donut and off he goes. I don’t see the kids or him again until afternoon.
Then the Mrs. will get cleaning stuff out and start to clean the house from top to bottom. She washes the counters and the table and then sweeps the floor. Sometimes she will get a thing she calls a mop and mops the floor with water. She turns the radio on and listens to it while she is cleaning. She will get phone calls now and then and stop long enough to talk for awhile. She goes to put the laundry in and then comes back to the kitchen.
Every now and then a neighbor will stop by and they will have more coffee and donuts and just sit and talk for a spell. I can tell you stories about almost everybody in the neighborhood, just listening to them.
When she finally gets back to cooking dinner it is almost time for the kids to come back home. It is amazing when it is mealtime here. The Mrs. of the house comes in and starts cooking food and it smells so good sometimes. She will wash and cook vegetables and I watch this and thank my lucky stars that I can stay here and keep warm. I think it is just a matter of time before she will grab me for the meal or the kids will get me for a snack. It’s depressing at times. Most of the time I am happy as an apple in the basket, just watching the family.

Re: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 5:08 pm
by LeanneF
I cannot believe these people. I am round. I am gloriously ripened. My luscious skin is but a camouflage for my immense beauty within. I am APPLE. And I deserve to be eaten. Hanging above me with as much ceremony as dead fish on a stringer is BANANA. I saw it coming and I knew it wouldn’t be good. There we were, my sisters and I nestled nicely in the pretty glass bowl on the counter and then voila … this contraption arrives. Some wire frame bowlish thingy with a big upside down hook protruding above it for the hanging fruit a.k.a. BANANA. Poor wittle babies might get bruises if they have to stay with us in the bowl. But what about US!
I’d like to lodge a complaint with the mother of this house. But it’s no use. She’s usually so busy she almost runs into herself some days coming home from work and rushing out again with one of those brats. Yeah those snotty nosed, rotten little … BANANA LOVERS! I know that the older one has braces but the boy, he has no excuse. I am here for him, ready to satisfy his every hunger. But does he choose me? No, again he chooses BANANA. And I watch him as he strips it to its mealy whiteness, cuts it up, then slathers it with chocolate sauce and Cool Whip. I … I … I can be dipped too!
The mother. Did I mention that she is always late and always grabs a …. BANANA as she runs out the door? I really hate the mother.
But I love the father. He is never in a rush. He sits down in the morning with his coffee, reads the paper and chooses one of us from our bowl of captivity. He groans with every bite if we’re a sweet bunch – which we are – and chews us down to the core. The core. Did I say I love him? And he repeats it all at lunch when he sits down again with more coffee, and another paper and one of us. He seems to have a lot of time to eat apples, truly appreciate our formative beauty, savor our juicy offering. Why doesn’t he rush around in a state of constant chaos like the rest of this family?
I don’t know and I don’t care. Some of my sisters are getting bruised from sitting around. But me, I’m still firm all over. I know that my time is coming.
Today, he’ll pick me.

RE: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Tue May 03, 2011 5:41 pm
by lorenebru
The refrigerator closed with a gentle push from her foot. Fuji looked over and sighed. "Whew...sure glad I missed the crisper! It's much nicer sitting here on the counter. Sometimes the basket gets a bit crowded, but it’s nice and warm here with my friends. I can see things from up here, too. Not like being shut away in a cold, dark drawer.

Sometimes there’s a lot of laughter and high spirits ringing throughout the house. I especially like it when the Lady of the house comes into the kitchen and wipes the counter down around us. She has a lovely voice and hums softly while she works. There are times when the smaller ones will come in and grab for a piece of fruit. But no matter how many times I hope and pray, they always go for the banana or the orange.
The other day, the tall one with the deeper voice came in and lifted me up. I thought sure I was going to be his next healthy treat, but much to my dismay, he was just looking for one of the little cuties that are grouped next to me in the basket. Sure, they are juicy and delicious, but so am I. I would give anything to have someone pick me up and hold me close. I shine up really nicely when my outer skin is gently rubbed, even if I do say so myself. Chiquita or Naval can’t do that.

If those little ones only knew how good I tasted with a little peanut butter. I bet they’d demand to have an apple every day…and you know what they say…an apple a day keeps the doctor away! That should be reason enough to pick me first!

Sometimes, I imagine myself becoming the favorite treat of the day. They all rush in from school trying to outrun the other one to see who will grab me up first. There’s an excitement in the air as the lady smiles down at them and decides that I can be shared between the two. Now, she could have easily reached into that cold drawer and pulled out another apple, but she wanted them to learn a valuable lesson. She explains to them that sharing is an important part of growing up and that the more they are able to share, the happier they will be. And to think that I could be a part of that important learning experience.

Aw well, maybe one day…before I grow too soft and wrinkled. I’m sure she knows that a crisp, fresh apple is the best kind. I still have a few good days left. Hopefully by then I will become the healthy snack that everyone should have at least once a day. But for now, darkness falls all around me as the house grows steadily quiet. The little ones are safely tucked in their beds and the Lady and the Man are sitting together on the sofa, watching their favorite show. Come tomorrow, I’ll do my best to catch their attention. I’m sure it won’t be long now…

(516 words)

RE: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Wed May 04, 2011 3:39 am
by missycamp
How could life get any worse? The bananas are going bad, the gnats are driving me crazy, and there is a little boy threatening me with a fake sword...*sigh*.

Oh, there she is again...the Big One who brought me here. Oh no...she's coming closer, and she's looking right at she's reaching out....I take back my question! God, please, no! Not the hand! ANYTHING but the hand! Aaaaahhh! CRUNCH.

RE: An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

PostPosted: Wed May 04, 2011 9:07 am
by Jen Daiker
She always saves me for last, insisting I’m best when I’ve been given the most attention by the sun. She snacks on the oranges and bananas until I am perfectly nestled right in the middle of the basket. Each morning the sunlight hits the dining room table while she enjoys her cup of freshly brewed tea grabbing a stick of cinnamon that finds its home right next to me for instant flavor. The hum of satisfaction mixed with the aroma of cinnamon wakes us all up to enjoy the day’s events.

The children flow in next, one by one finding a seat at the table and the giggling starts. Grabbing their breakfast, spoons clank with each bite of cookie crisp that reaches their mouth. As she, my owner, their mother, makes her away around the table gives them each a kiss as she wipes their faces before she leaves the table I see the smile spread across her face. Today is going to be a good day.

Mid-afternoon the table is warm from the sun leaving my core hot and slightly uncomfortable, the owner for the house opens the sliding glass door allowing the breeze to rush against my stem. Instantly cooling my down I nestle my way back into the crevice of fabric that lay against the basket. Watching the children lose their energy I relax until I drift off into a deep sleep.

Dinner has arrived and the smell of garlic cheese bread and spaghetti fill the room, the children again giggle as they find their way to the table. Teasing each other harmlessly as their mother dishes out the evening meal, and before she sits she grabs my basket, taking the utmost care and setting me on the kitchen counter still in perfect view the happy family.

Together they laugh, love, and eat while I watch it unravel. Life is perfect from the basket, who would ever leave?