The Poisoned Apple

O N E

*not edited
~~~

I hear the screams of laughter outside as I wash the dishes from last night's dinner. I look up to see the neighbors in our yard talking to my husband. My son is in the yard playing with his best friend, who also happened to be with a tag-along kid.

I hear footsteps at the door, and smile my brightest when my sweet, sweet child strolls into the room. Such an adorable pouting look has taken over his face, he had been crying. I stop what I am doing immediately.

"What's wrong with my little cub?" I move to the family chair and slide him on my lap, hugging him tightly, like every good mother does. His beautiful blue eyes meet mine. He has his dad's eyes, the eyes I fell in love with-it seems I have a weak spot for blue. "Sam called me a bad word."

If only every problem was as simplistic as a child's. "Well, what did Sam call you?" He seems to hesitate answering me. But I knew just how to get my little boy to talk. "I suppose if you don't tell mommy, I'll have to call my friend the tickle monster over."

I lift my hand for show, and begin tickling him mercilessly. His giggles erupted through the house, and contagiously I begin to laugh alongside him. "Alright, mommy stop!" I stare him in the eyes, completely serious now. "He called me an ass." How rude. How did a seven year old even know about that word? What kind of parent curse in front of a kid enough for him to know when to call another person the said word?

"It seems to me that Sam isn't such a nice person." My son nods his head, "all the girls think he's cute, but he's so mean on the inside." That reminded me of the story I knew so well. It was twisted and contorted in all types of ways. Modernly of course, But I knew the truth. What had really happened so log ago. It brought back so many memories, memories I needed to share to my son-to teach him morals.

So I prop my son against a pillow to my side and we snuggle in his soft blanket his dad got him for his birthday. I rack my brain for the right words. Finally I turn to him, a twinkle in my eye.

"Let me tell you a story Leo."

~~~

"Are you ready?" I hear a faint voice to my left. I choose for a moment to glance at the midsummer sky. I shield my eyes from the bright sun with my hand. It was so hot outside. I was stalling this time I know, "Momma, must we leave? I quite like it here in our cottage." This is where I've grown up. This is all I've ever known.

Momma tries to hide these things from me, but I know we didn't have the money to stay-even with papa taking a second job as a blacksmith. The king was a greedy man, evicting us from our little cottage. If it wasn't for us, why, it'd still be rubble in the dirt. It was not fair. I have told momma over and over that it should be the king in our position rather than ourselves. He needs to be taught a lesson of greater value-kindness, and perhaps manners too.

Momma's eyes grew sad and she took my hand in her beautiful soft ones, "I am afraid so my child. But the king has offered us refuge nearer to his castle." Momma was such a sweet person, not an evil bone in her little fragile body of hers. I have come to believe that about our whole family. I take pride in the help we offer to others, even when there's not much we can do.

Our neighbors cherish our presence and it would only be fair for us to stay-in order to help of course. "I think the king is being very nasty. He should not be allowed to move us from our home."

Momma hushed my growing voice, "shh. My child, we must not talk down to our king." What a king he was indeed, throwing a poor family out with the snap of his finger. I am beginning to dislike our beloved king more and more. Her eyes grew soft and she place a cool hand on my reddening cheek, "don't you want papa to be happy?"

Of course I do, there was no question about that. I shake my head furiously, "he is only doing what is best for us as a family. So be good-and bear with it. We must be strong." Her truth was undeniable, and her words put a new determination in me.

I promise, from now on, I will be the best that I can be. For all of us.

It is a long journey from our cottage to the kingdom. We have to stop several times for bathroom breaks, and for momma to pick us some fruit to eat. But no matter, when we reach our new home there is a rumble in my tummy that will not be sated so easily.

There is a man standing on our doorstep when we arrive. He smiled tightly at papa, and stretched his arm out. "Welcome Mr. Grimhilde." My father greeted the man in his quiet way.

Momma was already handing me items from the back of the carriage. I carry the first box through the door to the place we now call home. My breath is caught in my throat as it constricts. I feel a knot in my tummy return from earlier. Tears threaten to spill over, but I hold them back. "Oh momma." She could see everything I did. She did not pause once as she continued to unpack the carriage, "the sooner we get things set up, the better it will look."

But for the first time in my young life I do not believe her words.