Before I am Famous

literature is something we infer after the story is told

How Happy Apple Wasn’t Made Into a Pie

Posted on | May 27, 2008 | 2 Comments

The mid summer’s sun casts its nicotine-tinged glow in the horizon. A fine summer breeze mixed with hearth fires making a stew bold and rich with the spring greens and maybe a fresh partridge, massages and golden pear tree. Pears big and yellow like miniature suns rising on the folds of thick green leaves. Here we meet Happy Apple, a name given to him for two reasons he was short and squat and looked more like an apple than a pear and he had the most sunny disposition. His outlook wasn’t sunny considering being picked on by the perfect ornaments that hung beside. This was no ordinary pear tree either, this tree which Happy Apple called home was the very same tree the king’s cooks would select the best pears to make a summery birthday pie for the princess. Here, my dear friends, is a story of Happy Apple and how he became more than desert even though I am sure he would have made a fine pie.
***
He watched the sun sink lower into the sky and knew the great picking would soon be near. The branch mates told him that he would be safe from picking because the princess demanded pears not apples. She hated apples. But being so optimistic about his fruitful life, the chef with weird wooden teeth and tightly wound hair would choose him because he was small and fill the pie perfectly. Just because he was small didn’t mean he didn’t taste as sweet and juicy as his brethren.
Soon the blueberry sky overpowered the yellow, Manilla spoke to him, “oh Happy Apple, can you not believe I will only see two more sunsets before I am plucked away and eaten by a mouth as beautiful as the princess? It is too bad you will stay here and die in the days of short sun or pecked away by worms or crows.”
“I would rather die on this branch then be eaten.”
“Pears are to be enjoyed,” she replied.
“You will be eaten doesn’t that bother you at all. You will die,” Happy argued.
“Yes, that is true but destiny.”
“Destiny my brown stem. Just because I am a fruit does not mean I want to be devoured by some fat loud mouth princess.”
“And what is it that you think you are entitled to?”
“I don’t know maybe a circus performer.”
Laughter like bitter lemons vibrated through the trees, “ a circus performer? For a pear you sure are dumb.”
Happy Apple couldn’t let I-want-to-chubby-princess’-snack get the last word, “at least that is better than come and get me I want to be to eaten then after a couple of days passed through like fertilizer.”
The branch fell quiet as the air changed from pleasant to savage. The wind picked up, darkness gathered and the gods fought for good and evil. Happy Apple looked at Manilla and wished the wind would rip her from her dreams and land in a pile of excrement, where she belonged.
White lightening butchered the sky and Happy saw an opportunity. Whatever is deep inside of a soul, even if the soul is in a pear made Happy swing with the wind rocking himself harder and harder until finally.
A strong breath of wind which if it were personified would reek of month old of garlic and 20 year- old dead fish, broke Happy’s stem and flung him far away from the tree into a place far beyond the grove of trees he knew.
***
The sun rose once again and he lay in a ditch. He wished for hands so he could rub his aching behind. Of course pain soon subsided when the air of freedom surrounded him. Now he wished for legs so he could do a jig and maybe buy a fat pig. He didn’t know what he would do with a fat pig or any pig for that matter but he could buy one. Far down the dusty lane, whistling encroached the pleasant air, not the calling of song birds perhaps of a song bird that was born with the vocal cords of a cow. The whistling came closer and a woman came into view. Not that Happy Apple thought of himself as a whole pie bu when he saw the woman, he laughed.
On top of her baggy more facial hair than Merlin himself, hollow eyes sat, eggplant colored hair. Dragging one ragged leg behind her and moved with the other, she stopped and picked up Happy Apple. She smiled, exposing a miniature Stonehenge.
“Please don’t eat me, “Happy Apple pleaded. He would rather by eaten by the princess instead of the bearded lady.
“No, you a perfect for me little experiment,” squeaked the hag in a false vibrato.
She placed him in her moth eaten garbage smelling pocket and carried him back to a grove of angry trees and entered inside the twisted roots. The dying fire gave the only light, she plopped him on the table and began jibber jabbering and mixed some things in a kettle over the growing fire.
Moments went by and she brought the kettle to the broken down second hand table. As if she were cradling some bat right before its foot would be cut off, she caressed Happy Apple and then dumped in the pot. What could he do? He thought for sure his brain thought his last thought. The hag brought him back to the surface. At the site of him, she howled with joy.
“I did it ye little runt, I made ye into gold.”
Happy Apple saw his reflection in the tarnished plate and knew he might buy that fat pig after all or even join the circus.
***
And here we are now, friends. How I come to obtain such a priceless treasure is that old hag had to sell Happy Apple to pay taxes. After trading hands, I won him in a stupid game of cards. Foolish, I know to squander. This golden pear can be yours for free. Please take this nutcase away. I told you this story because you’ve got to believe he talks, he told me the whole story. He talks all the cursed time. He won’t shut up. Though his story grand, I wish he would’ve been made into pie. Please take him. I will even pay you ten pounds just to take him. What about you madam, yes you the one with one arm and one leg. He’ll make a great companion for you.

A special thanks to Book Calender at Book Calendar- A Blog About Books for help with this story!!!

Category: weekly shorts

Comments

2 Responses to “How Happy Apple Wasn’t Made Into a Pie”

  1. Book Calendar
    May 27th, 2008 @ 2:27 pm

    Did I say the word Happy Apple as a name in my blog? Happy Apple was the first part of a name I remember from my childhood. Not, the full name of course, but a real honest to goodness personal name that is nearly impossible to forget. Hmm. Anyways, that was quite interesting.

    Book Calendar’s last blog post..Morning Thoughts

  2. Freelance Writing Gigs Jobs Tips | Work from Home | MISS WRITE
    June 2nd, 2008 @ 10:58 pm

    [...] / Flash fiction * How Happy Apple Wasn’t Made Into a Pie * The Post [...]

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