I was just a suicidal apple. All I wanted to do was fall down and die. As simple as that. But somehow I ended up changing the course of history and the world. Me. The suicidal apple.
It took me many forceful movements, many days and much effort to finally, and may I repeat finally, break loose from the branch. I felt freedom for two seconds. Yes, two seconds. Just that. And why only two seconds? Because I beautifully landed open on the floor? No. It was because that jerk had to sit down there, exactly there, other two seconds prior to my successful breaking off the branch. Damn, was I angry at the guy!! Frustrated as hell as I landed on his head. The fella just stared at me. Instead of hating me and throwing me into the distance, he looked at me. I wanted him to throw me far away so maybe I could kick so hard so many times on the floor that my skin would tear itself off and I would die. But no. He just looked at me. An amazed looked he was giving me.
“ I must have died and gone to heaven. In the apple-heaven, we meet strange faces staring at us. This must be it!”
For a while, I smiled. Then I looked up and saw the other apples from my tree screaming in despair, moving a lot as if a strong wind were blowing and calling out my name. Then, just then, I realised I hadn’t died at all. I understood that this thin, weird-looking guy with long hair on the side was probably some idiot that happened to cross my life. LITERALLY, my life! How dared he!! Man, was I pissed off! If only I had feet like him to start running and jump from a cliff, but no. I had to stay there, sitting on his hands, waiting for him to decide what to do with me.
What was he to do with me? Would he finally going to take my troubles away by crushing me with his fingers? Or would he choose to step really hard on me? Had I hurt him enough to make him feel angry towards me? Or would he make my worst nightmare live by eating me?! ?
“No, no, dear God of the Apples, no! Do not let him eat me. I always wanted to kill myself before be eaten and dead in this horrid, slow death. Please, I beg you!”.
My wish was granted: he did not eat me. Instead, he kept looking at me. Every passing minute, with a more amazed look on his face. Suddendly, he jumped on his feet, streched out his arm in front of him with me in his hand and it even seemed he would give me a kiss for he opened the largest smile and stood there looking at me. Then he threw me up a few times, catching me softly on my fall.
“Excellent, now he’s trying to get me nauseous or this is the devil playing tricks on me making me relive my suicidal attempt over and over.”
It was neither. I was wrong again. The man started mumbling numbers, words, numbers again, grabbed a leather and started making notes while throwing me up and down, up and down. After a few excited screams, he ran off to the city with me still in his hands and shared his thoughts with an older chap. They both clapped to their own discoveries while they left me sitting on a high wooden desk filled with dust. That’s what became of me: a dusty apple, slowly rotting itself away, waiting to die. When I finally did, I learnt I was much expected in the apple-heaven. I became famous for helping out that man, Isaac. I heard them call me “the psychic apple which knew Isaac was the right guy” and also “the one brave son of a bitch to jump and change the world and its future!”. Dying is an art just like any other: when you push it too hard, the result will not be what you expected. And death can be funny: instead of suicidal, I became famous. Through death, I became a hero.