An apple and pear were on their way to the market.
Pear (P): I am from behind the red barn.
A: Then we are almost neighbors. I am from the orchard two houses further back the road. Our orchard consists mostly of those ugly red cherry-trees.
P: Are you a wild one [slang for trees that grow up accidently on a spot and aren't planted by a farmer]?
A: Nope, I'd have loved to.
P: Me too.
A: How do you want to get consumed at the market?
P: I dream of being eaten by birds. I heard in the pear-tree that it tickles a bit. But I'd love being eaten by a bird and to fly. Fly far far away. I saw those birds so many times flying high above the tree; sometimes one of them sat on one of the branches of tree-mother; but I dared not to talk to them, I am too shy. With the poo of my bird I hope to find a wild place and grow up as a own tree-mother. Seems so cool to me to be at the center of the universe. What do you dream of?
A: I want to be bought by a family and be their sunday's dessert. I heard in the apple-tree that families are very tender and sweet. They really put you on a pedestral. I dream of lying on a nice bowl on a white tablecloth in the sun and being eaten by one of the kids. Who smells at me. Licks me tenderly and slowly and cautiously eats me.
P: Are you not afraid that you will end at the bottom of the dump and will never see daylight again?
A: I have been thinking about that too but I can't think of anything better as being the princess and highlight of their sunday's lunch. And after that never see daylight again is for me secondary.
They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. A seedless bunch of grapes joined the two of them.
Grapes (G): Can I join the two of you to the market?
A and P: Yes, you can.
G: Am I allowed to ask you a question that has occupied me for years?
A and P: Sure.
G: My tree-mother always told me to be humble because we are "eunuchs" but she never wanted to explain to us what it means. Do you know what an eunuch is?
A and P: Both hesitantly - I have no idea.
G: She also told us that our highest goal is to be pressed into a wine.
A: Seems nice to me. Being pressed and lie for many years quietly in a cellar and to be the wine that is drunk at Christmas.
P: I agree, nothing wrong with being drunk at Christmas.
The three of them arrived at the market and found all three a different market stall.
The pear was never sold at the market. She was lumped together in a corner after a few days. She was eaten by a blackbird and found her own wild spot behind the woods. She loved being a mum.
The apple was cut half on a nice plate on a white tablecloth at Sunday's lunch. The little girl smelled and licked her tenderly. She was most graciously. The little boy was a bit rude. He looked through the windows at clouds passing by dreaming of something the apple didn't understand. He ate his half without attention.
And the grapes? They were pressed into wine. For many years they have been located in a cellar of a renowned house. In the week before Christmas his bottle accidentally fell on the ground. He never knew what an eneuch is. And out of compassion noone ever dared to tell him.
Being eaten by a family like this one:
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