A strange fruit fell, from a great height – no one knows how high but everyone knows how fast because it was whistling like a bomb as it came down and everyone in the street stopped to see where the sound had come from. Women, children and men alike turned their heads skyward and sheltered their eyes from the sun. Those inside unaware of the whistling noise noticed the peculiar sight of their neighbours, colleagues and family all craning their necks in the same direction.

The last time a sight such as this was seem outside a window was when a meteor shower skated across the sky in full magnificent view. Beautiful, and not at all the end the of the world. This, on the other hand, was more bizarre than beautiful.

It was a cold unforgiving day so the sin was shining sharply across the blue, picture perfect, and the coldness in the air brought train like puffs from the mouths of those that ventured outside. But as the fruit fell there were no trains leaving their mouthy platforms, every single person forgot how to breathe, stupefied.

Those directly under the fruits falling trajectory suddenly realised they out to move – everyone had heard the story of the penny falling from the Eiffel Tower – and did so sharpish. The strangest thing of all, many would later comment, was that when the fruit landed, with a thud, it did not explode and splatter those nearest to it with a fruity sauce, nor did it bounce like things always did in cartoons. Instead, the falling fruit simply landed and proceed to roll – whole – down the hill that lay between the Antiquities shop and the local green grocers, and led itself towards the single standing building at the bottom of the hill. The Church.

Like the scene in a foreign movie where young and virile men race around their village to try and catch the young damsels that set off moments before them, or maybe more like the excited dash of children that spot the ice-cream van tootle past their homes, all of the onlookers hurtled down the hill after the fruit – the momentum of the occasion uniting the townsfolk in a strange sort of youthful game.

The fruit gained speed as it rolled over loose pebbles in the road, bouncing its way further along, ahead of its followers, its shiny skin seemingly taunting them all in their slowness. With a speed not very common to rolling fruit, it rolled its way right up the garden path of the church just as the priests wife stepped out of the arched doors to see a large crowd of people hurtling towards her. Stood like a deer in headlights the priest’s wife’s penguined feet received the jolt of the fruit ending its journey, and on looking down at what had landed so comfortably snug between her feet she did not see the people screech to a halt, only when a few voices yelled from the back for news of what was going on did she look up from the fruit. She looked at the people, looked at the fruit, and then promptly picked t up ignoring the gasps of the people around her, slipped it into her apron pocket and retreated into the church

The crowd turned to each other and discussed what to do next – not knowing whether to invade or not. After heated debate and frustrated impatience one person was appointed spokesperson and prodded out of the crowd and towards the church to go and investigate the fruit. The Appointed felt more and more ridiculous for joining in the insanity as he walked towards the church doors, but could not deny the curiosity he felt in him to taste and smell that fruit, to claim it and name it so as to rid the people of its thrall. The Appointed made his was into the church and towards the back of the church where the Priest kept office, and tapped nervously on the door. The door was opened after a little scuffling noises and a slamming of the back door – which probably meant either the priest or his wife had scarpered with the fruit now – and the Appointed was faced with a very stern faced Priest. The priest said nothing, raised his eyebrows inquiringly, which immediately set the Appointed on edge, and said nothing to invite a conversation. The Appointed shifted restlessly on his feet, sweat glistening on his forehead and saliva practically layering his lips with desirous need. Again the Priest said nothing, just waited.

Eventually he spoke.

“It’s an apple. Just an apple. Now kindly tell everyone to get about their business or I can always invite them in for an early mass”. The priest was renowned for his long sermons and strict abiding of the letter of God. The appointed stammered a frustration and left the church empty handed and deeply shamed, not knowing how to explain his failure to the people who eagerly awaited the juicy gossip, but the priest called after him.

“Tell the townspeople that more wondrous things have happened than an apple falling out of the sky.” And after the towns appointed minion left the priest sighed to himself, “It’s always a blasted apple”.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...