The Fruit of the Night

The moon silently hangs from the night sky.
I see the tree's fruit hanging from its outermost branch,
crying out, "Take me now, humans!"
I hear such fickle words, and
my body trembles, and
I scream.
We all scream.

With my hand, I reach to pick the low-hanging fruit from the branch, so easy to pick up and behold.
Its beauty captivates me.
Its grasp ensnares me.
"My precious!"
Once in my grasp, I hang on desperately to the apple.
Am I Gollum?

I see someone run to the door, barely managing to escape the night.
Free at last. He manages to see the light of day.
I envy him.
How I wish to be warmed by the sun than by the frigid whiteness of the moon.
How I wish to be blinded by the brightness of the sun than by the brightness of this white apple.

Our silent screams echo within these noise-cancelling headphones.

"So, how much for a pair?"

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Thumbnail photo by Ashutosh Sonwani on Pexel