Competition Winner: Apple by Dylan Owen
By: Dylan Owen
By Dylan Owen
I eat an apple. One a day keeps the doctor away. I throw the core, continue to walk, ignoring the squawk from a hungry seagull. I chew. I swallow. I fail. A chewed chunk, a bolus of fruit, sticks in my throat. Is this my Adam's apple? I choke. Gasp, grasp for air; all alone, no one there. Vision narrows, tunnel view, dark edges framing my life's end. I see, my family, mourning me; killed by an apple on the way to work.
I stand and lean, rest hands on knees, my final act? Attempt to retract a chewed piece of fruit from my throat. Time running out, senses reducing, producing sensation of space; the universe awaits.
Unknown to me, I am not alone. In space or in predicament.
Above, the seagull struggles. Locked in its throat, the core of the apple I threw. This apple resists the beasts of the field and the birds of the air. The seagull loses its flight. It falls, like the apple from the tree, pulled by gravity, that Newton polished on his knee. It falls, and lands... on me.
On my knees, dying, the seagull smacks down on my back. Gravities force
transferred, to apple, from bird. Apple expelled, death repelled. I inhaled.
Today, I was saved by a bird, killed by an apple.