An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

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

Postby jeteakp » Fri May 13, 2011 6:13 am

Oh, what a wonderful morning thought the apple; sitting in its cozy fruit basket on the kitchen counter in front of the window. There is nothing in this world more glorious than an early morning sunrise which is constant – for fruit and other crop.

A few days ago, I was sharing my branch with other apples; enjoying the warmth of the sun, swinging in the wind and being showered by the rain. But a fruit picker plucked me from the safety of my branch, placed me in a basket with other apples, and arranged my small basket on a shelf at my owner’s street side fruit stand for sale.

You guessed it. After feeling my firmness and inspecting my color – a customer brought me and took me home. Now, I am sharing a wonderful big basket with fruit I only heard about from fruit pickers. I remember them saying, how healthy it was for people to eat apples, oranges, grapes, sand pears, peaches, mellows and other fruit on a daily bases. But no one ever said anything about how heavenly an assortment of fresh fruit smelled, when sharing the same fruit basket. Mm….wish this smell could last forever!

From my high perch in the fruit basket, I can see this is a very busy kitchen. Meals are being cooked and served, dishes are being washed and put away, and homework is being done at a nearby table. On a regular basis, someone is pulling something from my basket to eat. I was recently moved to the left side of the basket when a boy reached for an orange, moved to the middle when a girl pulled a few grapes, and moved back to the right when a man grabbed a peach.

The heavenly smell is rapidly fading and fruit is constantly disappearing from the basket. I can’t see the sunrise anymore, only the brightness from the sun and hear sounds from occupants in the kitchen. It won’t be long now before I am eaten too. I have no problem waiting. I know what I am, and I know my purpose. Whenever, a hand reach for me – I’ll be ready to serve.

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

Postby jinhessel » Fri May 13, 2011 11:00 am


The fruit bowl is the old wooden one her mother passed on to her. It provides the “rustic look” - just the right touch for the still life the lady of the house is painting.

We provide her with so many colors to mix and match. My buddy Concord grape and his bunch line the back of the bowl. Dark purple, she has wet them and dipped them in sugar. It looks like frosted wine. The icy green Thompson Seedless guys skirt the front of the bowl. Two joined bananas, identical twins, rest in front of the Concords and behind me and that juicy little Navel on my left. My, my, but isn’t she a sight to make your mouth water?

I am your splendidly symmetrical Red Delicious and proud of it. I can balance on my base with perfect rectitude and catch your glance with my flaming redness. The lady has sprayed me with her hair hold stuff and buffed me to a gleaming luminescence, which I have ambiguous feelings about, frankly. The hydrocarbons clog my pores and ooze into my soft flesh, but the shine really does make a show, doesn’t it?

>My neighbors the banana twins are not very mature, and they natter on in an imitation of monkey-speak, for some reason. They are quite green, as it were, with their unblemished pale yellow skins, but I suppose that the age spots of the ripe old article are not desirable from a painter’s point of view.

My sweet Navel, though – ah! Magnificence! So unself-conscious is she of her convoluted umbilicus, and her intense orange blush rivals my own glow – all the more bright for nearness to her. She’s an immigrant from Australia, that warm garden spot of the world where the likes of my kind cannot thrive. Such a treasure is this round, pungent orange.

The lady has her outline sketched out on her easel and is mixing the colors on her palette. She adds a drop of dark blue to the crimson. And that would be – yours truly – his Red Delicious-ness. Ripe and firm and red all over.

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

Postby jinhessel » Fri May 13, 2011 11:19 am

Whimsical - I like it!

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

Postby strawberrygirl29 » Mon May 16, 2011 11:37 am


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

Postby strawberrygirl29 » Mon May 16, 2011 11:51 am

December 22nd, 2011-

Today, Margret is out picking cranberries. Cranberries. What kind of world do we live in? We all know that apples are the best. Apples start with an A, and a is........ my lucky.......letter. Well, c is an unlucky letter, right? Right?????????????

Beth-oh, I'm sorry-Mrs. Kendall- is making apple pie. All of the apples are so excited, except me. I do NOT want to be eaten. I do NOT want to share a table with the 27.5 cranberries, the ham, the stuffing, and the macaroni. I've heard mixed things about Apple Heaven, and I do NOT want to be the one to sort things out. I don't want to...
(furious screaming from Apple)
(oven turning on)
(lots of "This pie is delicious)
Apple is gone.

-This story written by an 11-year old!!!!!!!

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

Postby Rachel Bonitz » Mon May 16, 2011 3:50 pm

Life here is quiet, although not in the sense you would expect. This is not to say there aren't many loud sounds, or activity, but instead I mean that life here is... Calm.


I watch the three people who live here. They come and go, occasionally plucking one of my basketmates, and someday I know that one of then will pluck me. This thought I don't mind, although I regret that once that day comes I will no longer be able to observe them.

There are two older ones, although, I suppose, not old by their standard. One is male, the other female, and I watch them often meeting in the middle of the room, sharing kisses and other little gestures of affection. They are in love, happy to be with one another, although I also see a little disagreement now and then. It is refreshing, I think, after some of the interactions I watched in the grocery store before she picked up the bag I was packed in and put me in her cart. The banana that lay next to me for a few days made fun of their habits; he was a very rude piece of fruit, really. At times when basketmates' turns come one can feel sorry to see them go, but that one... I wasn't unhappy when the female prepared a fruit salad and, with a happy smile, added him as a main ingredient.

The other human is very young, barely more than a bud. It is very noisy, although it isn't unhappy noise. Instead, it is a glad-to-be-alive noise. At times it expresses its dissatisfaction in ways that seem excessive, but I suppose when one is that young a little over-reaction is to be expected. I believe it is a female, although it lacks the characteristics of the mature female--also, I assume, a mark of its juvenility.

As possible outcomes in life go, I did well, although my being here is of no action on my own part. I think, though, that often the humans, the supposedly higher life forms, have a similar fate. Of course they aren't ultimately someone or something's mid-afternoon snack, but I feel how uncontrolable life is even for them at times.

That is another reason I am so pleased with the calm.

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

Postby trinkes » Wed May 18, 2011 1:52 pm

So all of you think you’re better than me? If that’s true, how comes the misses always puts me in front row center? As soon as anyone walks in this kitchen who is the first fruit their eyes go to—huh? Let’s face it folks, I get the Garden of Eden award every time. Are you looking at me Mr. hose-nose? Don’t even get me started on you. Okay, so you people want to argue the point with me? Alright, banana boy, you asked for it.

Your shape is about as appealing as a suppository sharpened on both sides, which means you’re anatomically correct on both ends...I think. If I spray painted you brown and put you in a bowl of water, you’d look like something that would be way out of place in this part of the house and rhymes with third. Six months out of the year you’re sold damn-near green and if people don’t eat you by Tuesday you turn brown on the inside which backs up sentence number two up there. Get outta my sight.

Hey orange—what’s your problem? So you ARE the King of Florida; I’ll give you that, but whoop-de-do. When Mt. St. Helens blew her top and covered my people with six foot of hot ash and dust we blossomed like it was a miracle and made quite a few hick farmers millionaires. It drops down to 35 degrees and you boys shrink up like a cheap suit in the washer. You may look like big orange balls, but you ain’t got any. Walk away from me.

Hey you up on the top—you mean to tell me that you’re in the grape family? Are you like the cousins from Arkansas that no one wants to claim? Well...are you a grape or a fruit? You know what they say; think long, think wrong. If you are more appealing than me, then how comes every time someone bites into you their face looks like it got stuck in a vacuum cleaner and they’re trying to squeeze off a four-pound fart? I mean, let’s get real here. Goodbye.

Mr. Pear, let me ask you a question—have you ever heard of a guy named Napoleon? No? Well let me tell something, sideways you bear an uncanny resemblance to that dude. He was so far out of proportion he didn’t walk; I think he rolled. And your name don’t fit, because you don’t have a pear either. You and the orange should share a bowl. Gimme a break.

And then you have the strawberries in our group. You boys are tasty; I’ll admit that, but why do you have to be dipped in chocolate nowadays? Is this something new-age or on the fusion food website? Most people can pick me, brush me off on a Dickies work shirt and eat me to their hearts content. They have to bend over—which no one but the Golly Green Giant bows to pick me—wash the dirt and crud off with clean water and then dip you in the brown sauce. I know that’s erotic and all, but let’s not forget what my essence did to you-know-who in the Big Garden. Case closed.

Palme granite, I’m gonna crawl up your orifice and pitch a tent. You think you’re so smart with the two-word name and all, and come from the “Med.” So does OPEC, but nobody over here is jumping for joy about that. People say that you’re an “acquired taste,” but here in the US of A you will slide out of the Wal-Mart bag into the garbage rather than slide down our stomach. It’s just not proper to acquire a taste for anything but good Scotch. Have you ever heard of an apple being dipped in Chivas Regal? The man in my house loves it. You can ask him when he comes home from his AA meeting; I’m sure he’ll back me up.

To sum this up: If you’re not eating an apple, you’re eating second class.

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

Postby bd6688 » Wed May 18, 2011 6:04 pm

Just started writing. Im dyslexic and I always slept in english class. But something has snapped and I cant stop writing these days.

Light creeps in and falls on me and warms my skin. I feel waxy today because I have not been washed in so long.
I can hear the rest of the house stirring in the background. Not that iv been here long but iv gotten use too these surroundings. Namely the kitchen where i spend all of my time. In walks Sam. She is tall with an average build. with hair the familiar color of a wooden basket. You can tell she just woke up due to her messy hair and her sluggish movements. Not that I mind, truthfully I see her as being her true self at this point. No make up or forced smile covering her self. Sad to think that the only reason she keeps me around is to feed her most basic of needs and to keep her going in her day too day life. Just a resource of sorts, No love.
As she finished starting the coffee pot, she walked over to my table. Sitting down Sam looked at me so fondly, and in that moment as she reached out to touch me. An overwhelming longing came over me. I wanted to be with her. Too please her..
She picked me up, brushed me against her thigh.
Then proceeded too devour me.

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

Postby D3x3001 » Thu May 19, 2011 10:12 am

My family and I were relaxing in our vacation bowl when it happened. I was checking out one of the bananas on the counter, and oh boy was she getting ripe from the flourescent bulb hanging from the ceiling. To get her attention I took my wash cloth and began to shine my skin so that it glowed. After a short period of time my brother rolled over to me with a slice of advice. "If you shine yourself too much she'll think you have worms, cool it a little." I became indignant at this. "No she won't! Let me try this mating thing on my own." He nodded and rolled off. I saw her ripening but then a big orange glided over and muscled out my view. I couldn't hear their conversation but I imagined it must be about how good she looked. I huffed in frustration but not for long. Screams resounded throughout the bowl and it broke my soft layers. I rolled around to come face-to-face with a fleshy hand strecthing out towards us. I knew immediately it was the hand of Charles, the fatty eater of the house. Dread filled my core as I realized the hand had come to take one of us away. I turned my bad spot towards him and crossed my stems. A moment passed and when I opened my eyes again the hand was gone. I performed a quick head count and no one was missing. The hand had decided to relocate to across the counter where the lovely banana was light bathing. I grew red with anger as the hand gripped her and she struggled to free herself. The orange made the decision to try to trip Charles and so rolled onto the floor near his feet. In the struggle to hold the banana the orange was stepped on and his juices were scattered everywhere. I leapt up out of my bowl and rolled under the feet of Charles who by this time was beginning to leave the kitchen. He stepped on me but I did not die. Instead he fell flat on his back and dropped Ms. Banana. I ran and caught her before she went splat. During her fall her peel almost came off but she somehow managed to retain it even after landing in my amazing strong arms and gazing upon my sumptuous face. Needless to say I quickly carried her off before Charles could regain his balance and stand.

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

Postby nastyjman » Thu May 19, 2011 5:01 pm

I sat there, peering through the gap. My brothers and sisters were stacked on top of me, raving about how great it was to be harvested by the "giants." Some cried with joy, some brimmed with ecstasy. And once they were picked up by the giant hand, they would yell and scream in a frenzy -- they were finally becoming part of the "giants."

I was in the bottom of the heap, glad that I was last in line. While everyone else were in thrall of being eaten, I was repulsed by the idea of it. It was wrong. I didn't want "to become part of the giants."

"I've been chosen. I've been chosen!" cried one of my brethren, nestled by the great hand, washed from a shiny branch, then bitten with a loud crunch.

"It hurts! It hurts! But the pain -- so exhilarating!"

Everyone in the basket, except for me, cheered in exultation. If they had hands, they would've pumped and waved them in the air. If they had feet, they would've made a mosh-pit out of the basket.

The crunch and the snap, as the giants bit my brothers and sisters, was haunting. It echoed inside me, chilling my very core. I sat there fearing that the time would come eventually -- right after the two remaining goofs on top of me.

"How great it is that we are next, sister."

"Oh yes, very great indeed."

"We will become one of them soon, dear sister."

"Oh yes, very much soon."

"Shaddap!" I said.

"Brethren, what ails you?" asked the male-apple.

"Aren't you scared? Afraid? We're going to die man!" I said.

"No brethren, we are going to be part of a great whole," said the female-apple.

And became part of a greater whole she did. The giant hand picked her up while she sang in praise, in jubilation. But as the giant teeth dug into her skin, she shrieked, then gave a sigh of awe as the giant devoured her.

Then there were two; my only remaining brother on top of me. He was silent; he knew I wasn't much of a conversationalist in terms of being eaten.

Days had passed and the waiting had become unbearable. I felt pain inside me, perhaps of anticipation. My brother sensed it too. A little doubt grew on the surface of his red skin; they were brown patches peering at me, face-to-face.

"Brethren, I feel sad and I can't understand why," said he.

Then, seeing the giant approaching, his voice brightened. Elated. The giant was coming, ready to take my brethren away from me, to leave me alone, to wait alone.

"It's high time brethren! May mother nature bless ye!"

I firmly believed he was getting picked. But no. The giant reached out to the basket and grabbed me by my stem. If I had a mouth, I would've screamed at its face.

It opened its mouth and sank its teeth against my skin. The crunch and the snap tingled through me. The pain stung, yet slowly receeded into ecstasy. But I wanted to live and didn't want to be consumed. I hung in the air weightless and without thought.

The giant shrieked. There was a tingling sensation on the surface of the bite. I felt its presence and learned why I had pains: a worm had claimed residence inside me. It squirmed and struggled for survival, sharing its motives with mine. Because the worm wanted to live, I had wanted to live.

I flew across space, feeling the air push against me, and escaped through the window. The sun bounced against my skin, flickering brilliance in the summer day. I fell on the soft soil beneath a giant tree -- there was my giant, my mother, my home.

"You're alright kid," said the worm beside me, then dug itself back inside.

I wasn't sure about that: part of me wanted to be consumed by the giant (the bitten half), the other part of me wanted to sit there, enjoying the sun, the soil and the shade.

"Hey, you know any good jokes?" I asked the worm.

There was a moment of silence until the worm responded: "What do you get when you cross an apple and a shellfish?"


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