The forbidden fruit

The Forbidden Fruit

He had never tasted an apple in his life. He had seen them in the market, red, green, and yellow, shining like jewels under the sun. He had smelled their sweet fragrance, mixed with the dust, and sweat of the crowd. He had heard their crisp sound when someone bit into them with a satisfied smile. But he had never tasted an apple in his life.

He was an orphan, living on his own in the zigzags of poor lanes. He had no home, no family, no friends. He survived by begging, stealing, and doing odd jobs for anyone who would pay him a few coins. He wore a ragged shirt, torn pants, and no shoes. He was always hungry, always cold, always alone.

One day, he saw a man selling apples in a wooden cart. The man was fat and jolly, wearing a fur coat and a fur hat. He was shouting in a loud voice, "Apples, apples, fresh and juicy, only one piastre each!" The boy felt a sudden surge of desire. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world. He wanted to feel its smooth skin, to smell its sweet fragrance, to hear its crisp sound, to taste its juicy flesh. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world.

He approached the man, timidly, and said in a faint voice, "Please, sir, can I have an apple?"

The man looked at him with contempt, and said, "What? An apple? For you? Do you have any money?"

The boy shook his head, and said, "No, sir, I have no money. But please, sir, can I have an apple? Just one apple, please."

The man laughed, and said, "No money, no apple. Go away, you filthy beggar. Go away, before I kick you."

The boy felt a pang of pain in his heart, and tears in his eyes. He turned away, and walked slowly, looking at the ground. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world.

He wandered around the market, looking for someone who would give him an apple. He asked the old woman who sold bread, the young girl who sold flowers, the blind man who played the flute. But they all refused him, or ignored him, or scolded him. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world.

He saw a group of children, playing with a ball. They were laughing, and shouting, and having fun. They looked happy, and healthy, and warm. They had parents, and homes, and friends. They had apples, too. He saw them eating apples, one by one, throwing the cores away. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world.

He approached the children, cautiously, and said in a soft voice, "Please, can I have an apple?"

The children looked at him with scorn, and said, "What? An apple? For you? Do you have any money?"

The boy shook his head, and said, "No, I have no money. But please, can I have an apple? Just one apple, please."

The children laughed, and said, "No money, no apple. Go away, you dirty orphan. Go away, before we beat you."

The boy felt a stab of pain in his chest, and blood in his mouth. He turned away, and ran fast, looking at the sky. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world.

He ran until he reached the edge of the city, where the fields and orchards began. He saw rows and rows of apple trees, laden with ripe fruits. He saw the sun setting behind the mountains, painting the sky with red and gold. He saw a farmer, walking with a basket, picking apples from the trees. He wanted an apple, more than anything in the world.

He approached the farmer, desperately, and said in a loud voice, "Please, sir, can I have an apple?"

The farmer looked at him with pity, and said, "What? An apple? For you? Do you have any money?"

The boy nodded, and said, "Yes, sir, I have money. I have this shirt. It's my only shirt, but I'll give it to you. Please, sir, can I have an apple? Just one apple, please."

The farmer sighed, and said, "All right, all right. Give me your shirt, and I'll give you an apple. But hurry up, it's getting dark."

The boy took off his shirt and handed it to the farmer. The farmer gave him an apple, and said, "Here, take it. And go away, before I change my mind."

The boy took the apple and thanked the farmer. He felt the smooth skin, he smelled the sweet fragrance, he heard the crisp sound. He wanted to taste the juicy flesh, more than anything in the world.

The boy stood shirtless before the weathered farmer, exchanging his garment for the coveted fruit. As the farmer thrust the apple into his outstretched hand, he uttered gruffly, "Take it and begone, ere I repent my charity."

Taking the apple with trembling fingers, the boy beheld its flawless form, enraptured by its perfection. He caressed its smooth skin, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent that wafted from its core. With a delicate touch, he traced the contours of its shape, reveling in the promise of its succulence.

But he hesitated, for in his mind's eye, he had tasted this apple a thousand times over. He had savored its imagined sweetness, felt its imagined crispness yield beneath his imaginary teeth. Fear gripped his heart, fear of consuming the very essence of his longing, of extinguishing the ephemeral joy that the apple represented.

So he closed his eyes and imagined. Imagined the sensation of each imaginary bite, the imaginary burst of flavor upon his imaginary tongue. He savored the imaginary juiciness, the imagined ecstasy that danced upon the edges of his consciousness.

But reality remained unchanged.

He dared not bite into the apple, for fear that it would vanish like a wisp of smoke, leaving him alone in his hunger once more. And so, he held back, trapped in a tragic dance of desire and denial.

In his mind, he devoured the apple a thousand times over, yet in truth, he remained as he was: shirtless, with only the memory of the apple's tantalizing presence to keep him company. And as he walked away, his empty hands a testament to his unquenchable longing, a single tear traced a path down his cheek. For he had tasted the apple, more vividly than anything in the world, yet it had never touched his lips.

He looked at the sky and saw the stars. He looked at the ground and saw the frost. He felt the cold, and shivered. He had no shirt, no pants, no shoes. He had no home, no family, no friends. He had nothing, nothing at all.

He lay down on the grass and closed his eyes. He felt a chill in his bones, and a pain in his lungs. He felt a darkness in his mind, and a silence in his ears. He felt nothing, nothing at all.