[277] Blackend Baleful Orchard

On the outskirts of the town stood an orchard heavy with blackened fruit. At first, it would fulfil the people’s hunger, but soon after they would succumb to stomach cramps, nausea, and fever, even though it had satiated them.

All the townsfolk knew of this blackened, baleful orchard, although a few would still try that vile fruit—some from desperation, others from simple curiosity. They all learned that the aftermath was not worth fulfilling their hunger that way.

Except for one young woman.

This poor wretch often harvested those tainted fruits. Those who cared for her insisted that she stop. They led her to fresh, clean fruit. They pleaded and begged her to stop carrying out her ruinous harvest.

Yet she continued.

Those who took sadistic pleasure in it encouraged her, finding sick enjoyment in it, believing she welcomed the pain they caused.

Yet a few understood.

Those who cared pleaded with her until pleading became exhaustion. Those who mocked her eventually grew bored. Even some who understood stepped back, believing pain would teach what words could not.

Still, some remained from every group.

Soon, one man who understood could no longer bear witness to her pain. He mulled and planned, determined to find another plot before he too turned away and left her to her fate.

Seeing her, yet again, traipsing to that blackened, baleful orchard, he stopped her and said:

“I know you don’t eat that putrid fruit for your hunger.”

She paused, perplexed.

“Do you see it now? You do it because that sickness is familiar. It is what you already know.”

He paused to let the next words sink in.

“You can have better.”