Disclaimer: This article contains a series of journal entries by an unidentified author, which were discovered stashed in the corner of the fruit aisle inside a Trader Joe’s. Though we at The Echo cannot attest to the validity of the claims made in these entries, be warned, for what they describe is deeply disturbing, and if any of it is true, we should all be very afraid for not just our lives and our produce, but for the world as we know it.
Day #1:
I’ve grown weary of all these imperfect apple varieties. Why must I—when craving an apple as I so often do—be forced to compromise on one trait that makes an apple good (say, the crispness or price) in exchange for another. Well, no more! Today I, [the name written had been violently scratched out and made illegible], embark on a scientific odyssey for one purpose and one purpose alone: to create the world’s most perfect apple.
Day #4
In the dead of night, I broke into my local general store to collect what I needed to make my apple perfect. To all who are familiar with me, I am known as a proud connoisseur of apples—I eat at least one a day and haven’t had to see a doctor in years—so I am quite sure of which apples possess the traits my apple must have in order to reign supreme. My apple must possess the crisp, picturesque skin of a red delicious, the mighty girth of a hokuto, the inoffensiveness of a gala, the flavorful tenderness of a honeycrisp, the ability to breed with the wanton-ease of a liberty, the long-lasting vitality of a fuji, and—purely for my own fancy—the whimsical name of a cosmic crisp.
With great effort, I manage to procure a sample of them all for experimentation.
Day #8:
After days of stitching together disembodied apple parts, I have done it! I have created life!
No, this is more than life; it is the world’s most perfect apple. In honor of its divine perfection, I have christened it the Prometheus Apple. It is crisp and vibrant, possessing a waggish charm and pleasant demeanor. It almost looks too appetizing to eat, but I must persevere. For science.
Mouth salivating, I take a bite, but quickly recoil in horror and disgust. All the different parts that make up this apple, though attractive on their own, are hideous as a combination! Even its appearance, once considered beautiful, my eyes now deem fake and unappealing. The horrible flavors overwhelm my senses, leaving me unable to cope with my spectacular failure in an emotionally healthy way. Instead, I throw the wretched thing to the floor and vow to deal with it tomorrow. Whatever that horrid thing is, it is not an apple.
Day #9:
After wandering the streets for hours to clear my head, I return to my laboratory the next day to properly dispose of the wretch, only to see that it is nowhere to be found. Egad! If others were to discover this monstrous fruit and try to take a bite, they would surely die of shock! And if it were discovered that it was I, [again, the name written had been violently scratched out and made illegible], who committed this atrocity on produce, it would ruin me! I must track it down to get rid of this monstrosity once and for all. If only I had the faintest idea where to look…
Day #15:
As it turns out, I needn’t worry on finding the beast, for it found me! As I awoke in my laboratory (I have chosen to reside there until this whole ordeal passes, lest I be forced to face the questions of my peers, curious to see what I have been working on these past few weeks), I was startled to discover that the creature has returned! I call it “creature” now, for that is surely what it has become.
It has decayed rapidly since its creation. Its skin that was once taut has now shriveled and torn and and collapsed inwards onto itself, revealing the mushy insides and rotten core looming within. Specks of dirt or rot resembling hundreds of beady little eyes now cover its once obnoxiously blemishless skin as well, and worse of all, when I squint my eyes ever so slightly, the hole that remains from when I took that fateful bite appears to be… a mouth.
Evidently, that’s how it functioned, too, for I had awoken from my brief fainting spell (the sight of my wretched creation’s return was too frightening to remain conscious) to find the creature speaking to me! In French, no less, as if the thing wasn’t wretched enough!
I have no earthly idea how what was meant to be an apple has gained sentience, especially given that it has no brain, and neither does the creature. It shared with me how, on the floor where I abandoned it, it “came to life,” so to speak. The creature had escaped and gone out into the world, looking for others like itself, but after coming across thousands of normal mindless apples, it had realized that it would find no companionship amongst its own kind. And after attempting to interact with people on the street, it realized nor would it fit in amongst humans either. It was alone.
I sympathized with the creature immensely. As a child, my personality was dictated by my strong passions for body horror media and pomology. I shared its experiences of not fitting in, so I asked the creature if there was anything I could do to alleviate its suffering.
It said yes. It understood it was dying, so it asked me if I could plant its seeds, so it could one day live again among other “apples” like itself. Consumed by guilt for what a short, wretched life I had cursed this creature with, I agreed.
Day #16:
It is done. Given how rapidly the creature decayed, I expect whatever tree that grows from its corpse to grow just as abnormally quick.
I buried the seeds in a small planters field in France. Far from my life and livelihood, but not far enough. I know I cannot live in a world where more creatures like it exist. I shudder to think of what may happen if they learn how to self pollinate, and how quickly these things could spread. I could wipe out these creatures now, but as horrid as the creature was, I gave it my word.
To anyone who may read this, I apologize for my hubris, for it may have doomed us all. I am ashamed of my experiment. If only I had been willing to pay the extra $1.50 per pound for honeycrisp apples regularly, I never would have felt the need to create a “perfect apple”—I would have already possessed it. But alas!
I plan to turn myself in for my crimes in the morning. If the owners of the general store are reading this, I’ve placed the monetary sum of the products I stole in my desk. You may collect it at your leisure.
While I wait for the police to arrive, I shall indulge in one last worldly pleasure before I am thrown behind bars where I belong: a single red delicious apple. The stale quality of the thing hurts me, but it is all I deserve.
I need rest, for I had only taken a single bite into my apple before I dropped it in terror, believing it to be covered in eyes. But what I thought were eyes were merely a bruise. And the mouth I know to merely be a bite, but I swear it speaks to me…
Jour #???:
Je n’ai pas de bouche et il faut que je crie [I have no mouth, and I must scream].