Apples

"Have an apple," the gentleman said, as he placed a large piece of fresh fruit down on a simple wooden table, warped and cracked with age. The flickering light from the overhead bulb danced across its waxy red skin, bright and vibrant like a lover's lips. Or blood. Back and forth, the light bulb swayed, hanging loosely from the old chain suspended from the ceiling.

Julie eyed the apple and the dozen or so others the gentleman had given her so far, each one spotless and unbruised, shiny as a firetruck, each one a perfect specimen. One by one, the gentleman had offered them to her, espoused their virtues, and set them neatly before her on the table.

She couldn't remember how she'd come to the room, small and wooden and old. The air smelled of dust and mildew. It hung on her, wrapped her up in a thick, humid blanket, caused her to sweat. Nor could she remember ever having met the gentleman before. He wore an immaculate white suit, pressed, with creases sharp enough to cut. His tie, the same red as his apples, closed around his neck in a perfect knot. He had a sharp jawline, piercing eyes, hair parted cleanly down the right.

"It's cool and delicious." Even his voice sounded like apples, crisp and sweet.

Julie's mind raced, considering all the horror stories she'd heard as a child. Tales of razor blades and poison hidden within at Halloween, killing unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. Snow White being poisoned. The story of Eve and the Serpent and the origins of evil and damnation. And now, the gentleman himself offered her apples. So very many apples.

"Please," she whimpered. "I just want to go home."

"Of course, my dear," he said, voice cool and sweet as ever, his face all smiles. "But first, have an apple."

He placed another before her, bringing the total to fourteen. Every time she spoke, another apple. She tried to leave once, but there was something in his gaze. She couldn't rise from her chair. She'd tried, and all he had to do to stop her was look her in the eyes. She didn't budge from her spot, didn't even shift, as though she'd grown roots into the seat and floor. Then he offered her an apple.

There was no escape. She wasn't even sure the room had a door. The bulb was dim, and did little to illuminate anything other than the table and her tormentor. She'd never see home again. Never see Jeremy. Never go to work again, even though she hated it. Never enjoy another tray of expensive cheeses and low budget movies. She would never see her family or sit through another of her neighbor's dinner parties. Strange the things she found she would miss.

"There's no leaving," she asked weakly, "is there?"

"Of course there is," he replied. A nice, round fifteen. "Have an apple."

Defeated, she lifted her hand from the arm of the chair, grasped an apple between her thin fingers, brought it to her trembling lips, and said a silent prayer.

Then, slowly, cautiously, she took a bite. It was sweet ambrosia, cool and delicious just as he promised. Its juices quenched her in ways she'd never known she thirsted. The flavor filled her, tingled her senses, consumed her every bit as much as she consumed it.

When she finished partaking of its refreshing flesh, she rose from her chair. The gentleman offered her a handkerchief from his pocket, its silk the same bright red as the apples, the same red as her lips. She took it from him politely and delicately dabbed the juices from her face, then folded it and returned it to him.

"Thank you," she said, her voice the very picture of peace. "May I go now?"

"Of course," the gentleman smiled.

"May I take these with me?" she asked, gesturing toward the table.

"Of course," the gentleman said, smiling unceasing.

The gentleman offered her a cloth bag and helped her place them, one by one, gently inside. Then, hand on the small of her back, he led her to the door.

***

"Oh, there you are, darling!" Jeremy said, rising from the sofa. His eyes widened like his smile, tension released from his shoulders. "You've been gone for hours and you haven't been answering your mobile."

"I'm sorry, dear," Julie replied, serene and apologetic. "I'm afraid I was at the grocer's, and you know how terrible reception is there."

"Of course," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "Do you need a hand unloading?"

"No thanks," she said, placing the cloth shopping bag on the counter and leading her husband back to the couch. She slid his shoes from his feet and rubbed them tenderly. He smiled, and bent down, stroking her cheeks and hair.

"You look lovely," he told her, smiling.

"Thank you, dear," she said, rising to her feet. "And you look a bit peckish."

Her voice was cool, crisp, and sweet as she reached her delicate fingers into the sack and produced a piece of round, red fruit. She tossed it to him with a smile.

"Have an apple."


Word Count: 860