Friday, 06 July 2012

• Wise with Age

  The following was inspired by this piece which I only glanced at briefly: Where The Apple Fell.

  I sold my soul to the devil I met under an apple tree on a sunny, summer day. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing with a smile that did all the talking. I was captivated and captured by the worlds I saw behind his eyes. He possessed a wealth of history and experience, and I wanted to drink it from his veins; I wanted to suck the marrow from his bones and be as world-weary as he.

  I wanted his love with all its violence and passion. I wanted to speak with the tone and inflection of one who has loved and lost, seen wars and survived. I just wanted to be important to someone who had no reason to ever desire me, and yet I was wrong in thinking he didn’t want whatever I had to offer. I failed to realize that the vampire who has seen centuries of time only wants one thing: innocence of time.

  He plucked a fresh, ruby apple from the tree and picked up a rotten one from the ground.

  “Which would you rather eat?” He asked holding both out to me.

  “Is this a joke?” I asked raising my eyebrows in doubt.

  He shook his head, “Which one?”

  I looked at both apples and looked at him, and the lesson wasn’t lost on me. “You’re the rotten apple, aren’t you?” I asked.

  He smiled and I knew I’d never love another smile like I loved that one. “And you are the untainted one,” he said taking a large bite out of its skin. “Delicious,” he commented as he savored the flavor of it.

  I took the rotten apple from his other hand and deliberated a moment. He plucked it from my hand and hid it behind his back.

  “I was going to try that,” I protested.

  He only smiled and leaned in closer. “No, you weren’t,” he said as he brought the apple out from behind his back, and my jaw dropped in awe. The apple he held in his hand looked like the one he’d plucked from the tree, only a little waxier.

  “Hold out your hand,” he commanded and I did as I was told. He placed the new apple in my palm. “Now, taste it.”

  I looked at him and back at the apple before taking it between my teeth and breaking through its skin. The apple was crisp and the juice bitter; wise with age.

  “It’s delicious,” I commented, going for another bite. He ripped it from my hand before I could do so.

  “There’s only so much wisdom one girl needs.”

  “And who are you to tell me what I need? You’re not my father.”

  He grinned, “Oh, but I am, love, I am.”

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