Continued from An Autumn Tale - Part 1.
The tree’s voice, which had grown to an angry shout, dropped to a whisper.“They will reach for you first, Pretty One. You will be among the first to die, because of your perfect ruby skin. And I will stand here, watching, watching, my heart broken afresh with every cry you make. Through thirty generations of men I have lived on this earth, and my heart has been shattered thousands upon thousands of times, with each apple child that is cruelly taken from my branches.”
The old tree made a sound like weeping, its leaves swaying and sadly singing: All is sorrow. Happiness has gone, and today is withered. Sorrow. All is sorrow.
The apple quivered. She said to the tree, “I am not afraid. I have lived happily while I could, and if it is so that I must be eaten, then I shall go to my doom with courage.” A dewdrop ran down her cheek, but she bravely lifted her face to the sun.
That same day, a group of children arrived at the orchard for a tour., “I’m going to take you to some of our tastiest apples, the Empires,” their guide said. “Remember, when you pick an apple, lift it towards the sun and twist its stem gently, so that you won’t hurt the tree.” Little did she know how deeply she was hurting trees by ripping their children from them.
The children clattered noisily into the orchard. The beautiful little apple watched them arrive, and prepared herself for her imminent death as a small boy named William walked up to the tree on which she was hanging. “Look here, guys!” he shouted to the other children. “I’ve found a nice, tasty-looking one!” And without further ceremony, he promptly twisted the stem of the beautiful apple. Pain ripped through the apple, clouding her thought and blackening her vision. She moaned, a heartbreaking sound to those who could hear her. William couldn’t, and was unmoved by her pitiable state. Then the apple shivered, gasped, and died as she separated from her lifeline, her mother tree, and the tree groaned in anguish as the boy savagely tore into the apple’s flesh. “This is nice and juicy!” called William to his friend Catherine. Catherine came over and unfeelingly twisted more apples off of the poor tree, biting them and commenting on their unparalleled flavor. William finished off his apple, throwing the core at the base of the tree. The tree wept, but she felt grateful to him for leaving her all that remained of her lovely daughter.
As the tree had predicted, the children spread ruin and sorrow wherever they went in the orchard that day. After they had gone, the mother trees swayed and sang their funeral song for the heroic fallen apples. All is sorrow. Happiness is gone, and today is withered. Sorrow. All is sorrow.
