The Apple

It was a fine, clear, sunny day.  You went outside to look at the apple tree in your backyard.  You loved watching the apples as they grew and had been waiting all summer for this day - the day you could finally eat one.  You walked closer to the tree, feeling the warmth of the autumn sun, broken by the crisp air and soft breeze.  The apples were beautiful - big, round, and bright red.  You picked one off the tree, ignoring the strange wetness that crept onto your skin, and took a big bite.  As you chewed, you felt something trickle and ooze down your wrist.  A small read stream broke the even color of your skin.  Tracing it back up, you found its source.  The apple was bleeding.  The yard spun around, trees and grass flying to the side, clouds and sky to the ground.

The apple fell on the soil beside you, but you never noticed.  All was darkness. 

You awoke, feeling the cold, hard surface beneath you.  All the lights were dim.  Even awake you could see nothing.  The space around you was pulsing, like a beating heart.  You tried to sit up, but you couldn't.  A soft, tangled ceiling hit your head.  Banging on the ceiling changed nothing.  With every hit a round ball fell on your body.  You picked one up, feeling its smooth texture, finding its stem.  Opening your eyes wide, you thought you could see the faint outline of a red apple.
The ground grew quickly around you, swallowing you further down. 
No one ever knew you again, but you watched everyone walk by - every day of every year. 

Finally, one year, your baby sister, no longer grieving your loss, no longer a child, walked over to the apple tree.  She felt its bark and gazed longingly.  She reached her hand out to you, twisting you and pulling you toward her.  She brushed her long blonde hair off her shoulder and went in for a bite. 

You fell to the ground together - you bleeding, dying; she following in your footsteps.