I walk, slowly, barefoot on grass that brushes through my toes with each imprint made. A rippling sea of green lies whispering beneath me, harbouring a world of dreams and such beneath it. I suppose this is the place where they come to make wishes. I should not know; I have never wished before.
A nostalgic yearning fills my mouth as I breathe in the surroundings. The powder-blue sky is dashed with the lightest of clouds, which transform at the barest touch of breeze, resembling things to which the names I do not know. I find it difficult to tell the difference anymore; what do I know? It seems as though we call a ‘tree’ a tree and that is how it is because we said so. Indisputable. I never have liked the primal need to define the world in its entirety, blurring the lines until I could not possibly tell you what is real.
I am glad for the clouds. Without them, it seems, we would be caught between two seas: one of earth and one of sky. At least with such peculiarities to break the horizon we may convince ourselves that it is living, breathing, anything other than the wall that keeps tethered feet earthbound.
Pausing from my reverie, I look before me to see what I did not know I was searching for. A tree so beautifully modest casts shadows on my skin, the branches illumed by a light as pure as spun gold. Precariously balanced, they hang poised in the air in such a way, and I know that this is meant to be.
Apples. Here. I could not count how many, although it is irrelevant – who decides the difference between a thousand or a single one to begin with? Although enthralled, I hesitate.
I mustn’t.
I must.
I reach. As though bound by spell, my hand encloses around one of the fruits, pulling with the lightest touch. One pull, and it is mine. I daren’t breathe, holding something so sacred and wonderfully forsaken. Overwhelmed by desire, I break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue, which I savour dearly. It takes a moment before I feel a numbness coursing through me, and the moment lingers impossibly on the air.
I feel the darkness embracing me before it is seen. Pulling in a whirlwind of angst that takes me away from here. Emptying my frantic thoughts from the inside. I am drowning in the heaviest of air, eyes drooping, and consciousness fading. The apple, tainted by the bite that was so forbiddingly taken, falls to the floor and is concealed amongst the grasses. Now it is not the sky that traps me, but the hand of my creation, who does nothing but watch me fall.
I do not know where I am falling. I do not know where I am. Muted by heavy eyelids and tendrils of the deepest black, I feel paradise fading. The tree is a hinted memory. The whispering grassland, too. I am starting over. As a once-beauteous world becomes an un-being, there is one thing of which I am certain.
Never once have I regretted the poisoned taste of freedom on my tongue.
