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Somewhere not too far east and not to far west lay a small town with in giant wall. The exterior of the bricks that made up the wall were once a vibrant combination of the brightest crimson of a fresh ripe cherry and the elegant auburn of a fallen autumn leaf. But now they took on a dulled grey like a looming storm cloud and insidious black like the cloak of death. The interior was not any better. Cracks lined the walls paralleling and intersecting at disturbing angles. Dusty brunette vines poked through the cracks, gripping as tightly as possible to the clay structures. The vines reached upward, taking on an image of what appeared to be hands attempting to find an escape from an unseen danger.

The town itself was composed of several ugly buildings separated by damaged roads like lighting against a black thundering sky, dead grass yards that resembled more of brittle sand than a green lushness, cars that could not run nor move at any pace faster than a full stop. The citizens were all clad in drab clothing with dispirited attitudes to mirror their state of living.

The stores, though, provided a bright beacon of amazing colours and inviting atmosphere. A mosaic of apples painted the store in bright hues of yellow, red, green, even pink. A bright neon sign outshines even the brightest rays from the sun. “FRESH APPLES,” amazingly shone over the whole of the town.

No one knew how each store was able to get such a delicacy but their appreciations strongly surpassed their curiosity. They loved apples. They needed apples. Apples were somehow an integral part to each and everyone's survival. “An apple a day,” became a popular entry into the local vernacular. A formal greeting. A casual reminder. A passive suggestion. There was not a reason not to eat apples daily.

At dusk the town began to shut down. The streetlights illuminated the roads as each family directed themselves to their own personal shelters. Hushed whispers could be heard before the total lockdown. Each door was to be immediately unlocked. Each window was fully opened. Everyone sat in their living rooms in a quiet patience. They began to wait.

Nothing.

Silence.

Tonight was the perfect night.

As soon as everyone sighed in a moment of relief, crashes and growls erupted from the edge of town.

A mother could be heard desperately crying as her child was swept away in the night. The young toddler cried, unaware of what was going to happen to her next.

The mother did not know either. All she did know was that this loss had been her own fault.

The mother had struggled willfully to incorporate a daily dose of the vital fruit into her daughter's diet. But the young girl was resilient . She had never grown accustomed to the taste of apples despite her mother's greatest efforts to disguise the taste in each casual meal.

Now there would be no more trying.

It had been a complete twenty-four hours and the daughter had not consumed a single apple.

And now she would be left to the will of the doctors.

For “an apple a day” was a warning of the white coated demons of pale skin and metal telescope chains. They waited near the walls of the town in eager anticipation for the next forgetful or careless resident.

The doctors are in and they are hungry.



Written by AyookaMizumaki
Content is available under CC BY-SA