Rolling

The apple had waited for weeks. Its stalk fibres twanged, one by one, until finally, the pull of Newton's pesky gravity was more than they could withstand. The apple fell to the ground with a plop. Freedom.

The grass was springy and covered in dew droplets that reflected the speckled morning light. The apple suppressed its cannibalistic yearning for a bloody mary to break in the day, and wondered whether potatoes or tomatoes were closer on its family tree. If the apple had known French, there would of course have been no doubt, but it was just an apple, after all.

The apple imagined thumbs and twiddled them. What to do? A small car drove along the cobbled road below the apple's field, and the vibrations set the apple rolling down the hill. The journey had begun.

The apple came to rest against a fence post by the road. Soon, a man passed by and spied the apple with greedy eyes. The man picked the apple up and weighed it in his hand. "This apple is heavy with contemplation", he said, and put it in his bag.

The apple hummed contentedly and briefly considered what it would look like with a mustache. Probably a bit shady. The apple was reminded of its mother.

In the bag, the apple was surrounded by an array of objects, all of which were sorely lacking in vocal cords. The objects played charades, and basked in the warm silence.

When the man arrived at work, he reached into his bag and placed the apple on his desk. From this vantage point, the apple could see far and wide. A printer chugged in one corner of the office and selectively removed items from its queue. A water cooler bubbled to itself and wished it were a fishbowl. The various greys of the carpet and walls congratulated themselves on their ambient capacity to stifle creativity. The apple found it all quite fascinating, and thanked the narrator effusively.

The day wore on. The apple was buffeted by the cooling winds of the air conditioner, but the man ignored the apple completely. The man stopped his incessant typing to eat a sandwich for lunch, then picked up the apple and wandered outside. The man threw the apple in the air and caught it, over and over, deep in thought. The apple squealed in delight. It had always wanted to learn to be juggled.

The man and the apple walked the streets of the city. Cars whistled past, and people babbled and gesticulated. The man received several compliments about the apple's size, plumpness, and colour. The apple thought the man was very gracious, but that such compliments were rather odd and made the story a little unbelievable.

The man returned to his office, and placed the apple back on his desk. When the sun fell below the horizon, the man rubbed his eyes and packed his bag. He glanced at the apple. "That apple is tomorrow's joy", he thought, and went home.

Well after dusk, the lights snapped back on. Cleaners traipsed in, dusting and polishing. The apple watched excitedly as a small woman made her way to the man's desk. She picked up the apple and gave it a squeeze. "This apple is remarkable", she said, and the other cleaners stopped to clap. The woman wiped the apple on her shirt, and took a bite. A satisfying crunch rang out.

"Apples to apples," thought the apple. "Dust to dust."