An Apple's Point of View - 5/3

The editors of Writer's Digest provide a weekly Writing Prompt to get your writing going.
writingsbyliz
Private E-1
 
Posts: 1
Joined: Sun May 22, 2011 4:00 am

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

Postby writingsbyliz » Sun May 22, 2011 4:08 am

It kind of sucks being in the middle of the basket, if I look straight ahead all that I can see is basket weave. If I stretch to the left just a bit I can make out the top of the basket and see a bit of the kitchen. It is a like watching talking heads. Occasionally a child’s hand will reach for one of my compatriots but inevitably the hand flinches back seemingly remembering that apples are not the food of choice anymore. I can hear the crinkling of the potato chip bag. That is what I can do the most; listen since straining to see above the edge of the basket just gets too hard and, quite frankly, a bit boring. It is not like my keepers are fascinating people. They seem to live an ordinary life punctuated with moments of frenzy as the mom tries to get the children out the door for school or some random activity. Mostly it is a quiet existence.
Once I heard the girl announce that she was “into eating healthy now” and wanted fruit in her lunch. My heart soared as the mom reached into our basket and picked me up. I couldn’t help thinking I was finally about to achieve my purpose in life. I was placed gently into a well used neoprene lunch bag and nestled between the cool side of the ice pack and the crinkly pack of potato chips. I guess the “eating healthy” was a relative statement. But no matter, I was on my way. I felt the frantic push of the girls hands as she wedged the lunch bag into her backpack; with all the packing around me I knew I was safe from bruising. I felt the sometimes gentle bumps of the car and bus ride and was jolted as the girl swung her backpack into her locker.
I waited with anticipation. Lunch would arrive soon and my destiny would be met. I heard the lunch bell ring and felt the tug of the lunch bag handles as the girl pulled the bag from the tight space in the backpack. As she opened the zipper the light shone in; her hand reached for an item then retracted. She had not grabbed anything. I heard giggles from her and her friends as conversations were shared about homework, teachers and boyfriends. Obviously these things were more important. I waited. I could sense the time slipping by. Her conversation became more intense. Finally she reached back in. “Pick me” was all I could think. I felt the brush of her fingertip. I held my breath. Then I hear the recognizable crinkle of the potato chip bag. She pulled it out and I rolled a bit closer the peanut butter crackers that were left neglected in the corner. I sighed. There was still time. Laughter erupted as the girl shared with her friends that she was trying to eat healthy but the chips were just too tempting and that maybe tomorrow would be a better day to start. The lunch bell rang and I felt a yank as the girl grabbed the lunch bag. She zipped the bag back up and stuffed it back into the recesses of the knapsack. The day went on and eventually I felt the thud of the backpack dropped on the floor of the girl’s home. As the girl told her mom about her day I felt the tug of the lunch bag being lifted out of the back pack; the zipper opening and the warm gentle hand of the mom lifting me out into the sunny kitchen. “No fruit today?” asked the mom as she turned me over and over looking for bruising. “Not today,” replied the girl. I was gently placed back into the basket. “Maybe tomorrow,” added the girl smiling.

strawberrygirl29
Private E-1
 
Posts: 6
Joined: Mon May 16, 2011 11:31 am

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

Postby strawberrygirl29 » Mon May 23, 2011 2:27 pm

cool stories

Bess Terrell
Private E-1
 
Posts: 4
Joined: Sat May 07, 2011 6:57 am

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

Postby Bess Terrell » Mon May 23, 2011 3:50 pm

Perfection Takes Time
By Bess Terrell

Tap, tap, tap.

“What are you doing, Apple?” asked Chiquita.

“Ummm, just making sure I am ripe and ready for best fruit salad in the world,” Red Delicious Apple said and turned to better catch the morning rays. “Ah, a great day.”

“I totally agree,” replied Chiquita from her banana perch. “Sunday! My favorite day of the week.”

“Miss Sarah Elizabeth……,” drawled Georgia.

“Better known as Libba,” chortled Belle, the youngest Peach sister.

“That’s right, dear. She underestimates the time it takes to prepare dinner for Mrs. Hilda,” purred the succulent Georgia. “We will definitely be late this Sunday. It’s already half past eight.”

“Sh-h-h-h,” hissed Clementine Cutie. “The alarm just sounded. She’ll be here any minute.”

“Hush your mouth,” chided Chiquita. “Fifteen minutes minimum before the smell of Columbia’s fresh brewed coffee reaches Sleeping Beauty’s nostrils.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Red reassured her high-strung friends. “Rump Roast marinated all night, the Rattle Snake Green Bean brothers are snapped, perfect New Potatoes are washed, and Yeast Rolls are ready for the oven. What about us, Fruits? Are we ready?”

“Yes,” chimed Chiquita, the Peach sisters, and Clementine.

“Where are the Grapes?” asked Georgia. “We need them for the fruit salad.”

“Washed and in the fridge with a tipsy Rumpy and the Rattle Snake brothers,” said Red. “Miss Libba made granny’s delectable Poppy Seed dressing, too. Yum!”

“Sweet Tea and Homemade Crust are ready, too. You girls will be just delicious today,” chirped Clementine. “I bet Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream will accompany you.”

“Always,” cooed Belle. “I declare Mrs. Hilda just loves Blue Bell with Georgia Peach Cobbler.”

“Where has the morning gone?” Libba yawned. “I squeeze in every last minute of sleep I can. I know how it stresses me to be late when Momma’s coming over. Why? Oh, why?”

“Tisk, tisk, tisk!” whispered Red. “You’ll be ready and have a gorgeous smile plastered on your face when your momma steps from her Lincoln at twelve twenty-five.”

Libba blew on her steaming cup of Columbia and looked at her to do list.

“Um, let’s see. Rump roast on to sear. Peel and slice peaches,” she mused. “Hickory smoked bacon and Vidalia onion cooking in Grandmaw Sam’s iron skillet. When sautéed to perfection, I’ll add pure cane sugar and apple cider vinegar. “

“Lawdy, we clean forgot about Hickory, Vidalia, Sugar, and Cider,” chided Chiquita. “We cannot have Granny Emma’s Rattle Snake Green Beans for dinner without them joining us. Unheard of.”

“Okay, roast on the rack. Three hundred fifty degrees for three hours. Fifteen minutes to rest and for me to make gravy with the pan drippings,” checked off Libba. “I’m still on schedule.”

“Unh-h-h-h!” clucked Chiquita. “You better get Dixie Crystal, Martha White, Ceylon, Banda, and Morton mixed and poured over the Georgia Peach sisters or Blue Bell will sit in the dessert bowl by himself. Perfection takes time, ladies, time. Oh, and gentlemen.”

“Potatoes boiling. Round of fresh butter softening,” Libba said and checked both off her list. “I’m so glad Mrs. Selma still churns butter. Momma hates store bought anything.”

“You got that right, baby sister,” agreed Clementine. “If you have a picky bone in your body, you got it from your momma and Grandmaw Sam.”

“A pint of Earlyne’s best Chow-Chow. A tray of Big Boy’s, Kirby’s, pickled Alabama Red’s, and Copper Pennies ready,” Libba said and checked her list. “Now, for the fruit salad.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, front and center. Our command performance begins,” Red announced. “Tossed in fresh Florida Lemon Juice, we will glisten to perfection. The classiest dish at Sunday dinner.”

“Ah, fruit salad in the fridge, pie in the oven, glasses in the freezer filled with ice, dining table perfect, a second cup of coffee for me,” sighed Libba. “And fifteen minutes to spare.”

“Hon, we’re home,” called Jameson from the foyer.

With a swift peck, instructions flew around the house.

“Marion Rose, put the glasses on the table. Buster, be careful with Grandmaw Sam’s butter dish. Jameson, honey, transfer the roast to the platter; take the carving knife with you. Green beans, potatoes, gravy, Chow-Chow, vegetable tray, rolls,” Libba pointed as she inspected the table. “And, fruit salad,” with one last turn of Granny Emma’s crystal bowl.

The Lincoln’s car horn sounded, and Mrs. Hilda called, “Yahoo! Anybody home?”

“Momma’s here,” Libba breathlessly proclaimed and ushered everyone to the door.

Apple smiled and preened as her magnificent red, delicious color sparkled in the chandelier’s light.

kwalker1129
Private E-1
 
Posts: 1
Joined: Wed May 25, 2011 5:30 am

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

Postby kwalker1129 » Wed May 25, 2011 6:12 am

How should I feel? Should I be offended that I have not been eaten, or blissful that I am still alive--although plucked, therefore alive on a downward spiral. However, everything is essentially dying as they travel through time closer to death, as it has been explained numerously.

If I were to sacrifice myself, though, I could temporarily benefit these hermits because of the succulent value of my nutrition. A sacrifice for a greater good, one literally larger than myself, is considered noble or even honorable; but it would be terribly painful to be pierced and plastered into the barreling bellies of a being. My selfishness is exacerbating. I'm a pitifully pruned fruit at this point, so even an interested individual would be sworn away simply by my stench. Is this better for me now? To rot away into a wooden bowl surrounded by other undoubtably putrid produce?

I pray to be eaten, for if my only alternative is to decompose into apple sauce, I hope to at least benefit another--even for a momentary satisfaction. The inhabitants of these dwelling seem widely unconcerned with the deterioration of me and my fellow bowl-mates, unfortunately. Maybe if I plop onto the floor while one is heating a cup of microwavable soup their interest will be spiked. Or, this could possibly back fire wretchedly if they deem me dirty and unfit for consumption. In such an instance, I would be hurled into the most undesirable bin, containing beer cans and disposable utensils. These ungrateful people do not recognize the importance of my existence, or even the unique flavor of my bowels. These creatures don't understand that I am a seasonal spectacle which is spiraling into sequential separation from the trees of my ancestors. I am a commodity, and a prized one in many corners of the continent.

Suburbia, now if I had landed in suburbia, that would have been ideal. I would not have had to suffer through the stench and the dim lighting caused by the fear of electrical bills. In a suburban home I would get packed into a quaint brown bag and shipped off to a wonderful elementary school where I would then benefit the development of a young body, whether I was traded for a Fruit Roll Up or not.

But no, I am in a college town, in a college house, and surrounded by empty rappers and beer spills that smell stale from days of sitting. Their mothers would use me, if not to force me down these children's nicotine coated throats, then at least to launch me towards their allegedly intellectual domes for a fair reminder of nutrition. My fate rests in the hands of writers, and student writers nonetheless. They are far subordinate to those which they admire. Yet, the more I doubt, the most I wish to be chosen for a treat. Hopefully one day, they will appreciate what I can offer and my juices will flow over their lips in pure satisfaction.

sunshine_minx
Private E-1
 
Posts: 1
Joined: Thu May 26, 2011 7:30 pm

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

Postby sunshine_minx » Thu May 26, 2011 7:31 pm

I loved that woman. Ilsa, the one who stacked us high in a mountain of glistening red skins and dark bruises, hiding those of us who were flawed deep beneath those who were absolutely flawless.
Like me. I was flawless, gloriously plump and handsome to behold in my unbroken Macintosh skin. Ilsa caressed me like a lover for the first time, and the last, after she left me with my brethren to be carried away in a white paper sack. It was less than idyllic and not quite what I had imagined my fate would be, to leave the bright spotlight and be tossed into some bowl like a common piece of fruit. Like a banana.
Oh, please, accept my apologies for such a grievous error. It’s a fruit basket, not a bowl, and the position where it rests on the kitchen counter lets me see the entirety of what I assume to be someone’s pathetic excuse for a kitchen. There’s no spotlight, there’s no Ilsa, there’s nothing or no one to make me feel like anything less than what I am. I know I’m a fruit and I’m considered little more than someone’s afternoon snack, but that doesn’t mean that in my own way I never aspired to be anything more.
I might have wanted to be applesauce, perhaps. Or part of something more glorious, flavor and texture married in a union of Apple Crisp.
But, as a grubby hand snatches me up and teeth sear into my supple flesh, I have come to realize fate had only this in store.
And as I’m gnawed down to the core and bare my seeds, I accept my destiny.

Chronic Daydreamer
Private E-1
 
Posts: 8
Joined: Wed May 25, 2011 9:55 am

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

Postby Chronic Daydreamer » Mon May 30, 2011 12:42 pm

Well, so much for my excitement about leaving the supermarket. Now here I sit, right at the bottom of an uncomfortable wicker basket. The other apples crush the life out of me as they shamelessly vy for attention, showing off their gleaming red colour for all they're worth. Knowing my luck, by the time anyone can actually see me, I'll have turned a less than appetising shade of brown.

At least their showiness works. Little by little, a glimmer of light shines through and the pressure eases as an apple gets lifted out. Each one brags about being chosen, but I try my utmost to ignore them. Because soon enough, it'll be my turn... won't it?

Finally, I'm the only one left. What a sorry sight I must be. My skin feels tight and wrinkled. Patches of brown mottle my entire body. To think I spent all that time getting polished and pampered for nothing. But I still have a chance... right? Aha! Here comes somebody right now! I listen, tense with anticipation, to the footsteps drawing closer... then all I can do is stare in shock.

This can not be happening.

A woman proudly carries a basket through the kitchen. Apples look over, jeering at me and prattling on about how glad they were to have been picked off the tree at long last. Great. Of all the households I could have gone to, it had to be one with a fruit garden. And now the apples are finally ripe, what further need is there for a shop-bought one such as myself? My luck is officially as rotten as my pulp.

"Ha! Move over wrinkly!" one of the apples mocks as the woman dumps them on top of me. That squelch I just heard and felt can't be good.

"Think ya can compete with us garden apples, do ya?" another laughs, viewing the label still stuck to my side. "Keep dreaming."

Looks like it's the compost heap for me after all. Oh well, at least I won't have to put up with this lot any more.

...

(Got this idea because I have a fruit garden.)

jenerii
Private E-1
 
Posts: 2
Joined: Mon May 30, 2011 12:56 pm

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

Postby jenerii » Mon May 30, 2011 1:33 pm

I am an apple. I may be an inanimate thing whose purpose in life is to satisfy one’s craving. But believe me when I tell you I see a lot of things.

My perspective may be a bit off considering I am sitting upside down on a banana in the fruit bowl while I await my future of being eaten. But I do know a lot of things.

For instance, I do know that the five year old boy is not human. The noise coming out of his mouth is a little bewildering. He also leaks slime from his nose - which, according to him, is edible.

Most of all, the fact that his parents seem to adhere to the little boy’s will is a little jarring.

Don’t get me wrong. I like children. Back home at the orchard, my fellow apples used to tell me stories of laughing children who would dip our ancestors into hot caramel.

Being dipped into hot caramel means a great deal to us apples. It is a honor. And children with their big smiles give us this honor.

Then, to my disappointment, I ended up into a trailer home with a non-child. The bright future of being dipped into hot caramel is not distant, but nonexistent.

Oh, here comes the non-child. He is looking at me now with a frown. His right hand is grasping a sharp knife. His left hand slowly picks me up. The silver knife is hovering above me.

That’s it. My future ends now. It is clear that I meet my end by being stabbed by a non-child. Fantastic.

Stab.

Ow.

The non-child’s tongue peeks out of his mouth as he carves into me. As soon as it begins, it is over. He backs away with a toothy smile.

“There! Better.”

I was wrong.

He is indeed a child. And he just gave me the greatest gift ever.

Not hot caramel.

He gave me a smile.

Suzanne13
Private E-1
 
Posts: 2
Joined: Tue May 17, 2011 10:51 am

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

Postby Suzanne13 » Wed Jun 01, 2011 10:19 am

ADAM
Yes, I had heard the stories. But I thought they were just that.....stories. Ya know, like the Boogeyman, stories to scare you. I knew those weren’t true. Guess someone forgot to tell me this one’s is, and it’s the scariest of all. I’m all alone here, sort of. Sure, there’s lots of others here, others with different colored skins. Where’s my kind? Where’s my family? And it’s so crowded here, we’re all crammed together, I can hardly breath. The air in here is very different, so still and there’s weird smells, somewhat familiar yet different. I want to be outside again. I want to feel the morning sun on my skin, the cool evening breeze. Everyone’s silent too, no talking. I think everyone’s afraid, just like me. I hear voices in the other room and I want to cry. One of the others, across from me, is all bruised up. I want to talk to him, but he won’t look at me, even when I stare. (I know he knows I’m staring at him!) Looking around the room, most everything’s foreign. I need to get out of here somehow, I know what’s going to happen. Even if I was able to escape this holding-cell, then what? I can’t see what lies beyond the edge, how far the fall would be. Inches? Feet? Miles? No way to tell until it’s too late. If I started to roll, chances are I wouldn’t be able to stop. Oh no! Here comes one of the voices! It’s a woman, she looks nice. I watch her slip some big puffy things over her hands, as she walks over to a big white box with a front door. Opening the door the smell gets stronger, but it’s a pleasant smell, a sweet smell, kinda like how my mom smells in the afternoon. She’s removing something from inside that big white box and sets it on the window ledge not far from where I am, steam rising slowly into the still air. That smell! That’s when it hits me. I’ve found my family. I cry.

hlb
Private E-1
 
Posts: 1
Joined: Wed Jun 01, 2011 11:10 am

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

Postby hlb » Wed Jun 01, 2011 11:16 am

Ever since the Beginning, apples have been misjudged. I know she ate the apple after He said not to, but her decision wasn't MY fault! Snakes, I can understand why people would stay away from snakes - that liar played dirty that day and ruined everything! But the apple...?

My ancestor apple was just doing what I'm doing here now - showing off the beautiful shape, color and shine that He made us to naturally carry. He made us, too, ya know? Made to nourish, feed, strengthen, refresh. But, ever since that horrible day, we've been overlooked.

Here I sit - a beautiful offering of healthy goodness, as was intended. Untouched.

That dirty snake!

cagney
Private E-1
 
Posts: 5
Joined: Mon Feb 14, 2011 6:11 pm

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

Postby cagney » Thu Jun 02, 2011 7:16 am

They say an "Apple a Day Keeps the Doctor Away", yet here I sit here surrounded by peaches, plums, apricots, kiwi, and more. I am perfectly rounded and the brightest red you have ever seen. If only one of these humans would pick me up and take a bite, how juicy and sweet they would find me. The crisp crunch of my flesh burst with flavor yet here I wait in the center of this fruit bowl. There was a couple of times when I though that one of these beings was reaching for me but alas they reached over me. Even the banana family is being eaten first. Perhaps they are saving me, the best for last!

PreviousNext

Return to Writing Prompts and Challenges

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 10 guests