A Fruitless Yarn

Grace was a slim built, an orphan lad of twelve, with a wheatish complexion. The scorching summer sun extricated perspiration out of his limbs. He lumbered out of the shady orchard with a basket slung behind him, with leather straps across his bony breast. The basket's womb was impregnated with ripe, juicy tangerines and bright skinned, red and green apples, that spilled out its succulent fragrance in grateful air.

His younger sister, Sela, merely of seven and true to her name--a vibrant, smiling and agile like a rivulet, trailed behind him like a wasp that followed nectareal blooms and continuously urged, "Give me one, you are overloaded." "These are not for us," Grace warned his sister of her untamed demand. "Of nature, they are, and ours too," the little girl whimpered. They entered a shade, a store house where the summer harvest is packed in wooden cartons for exports. Grace kept his gaze glued at the fruits and his tender sister sucking her right thumb, clung at his shirt end to influence his decision.

John, a sturdy man with a fancy Asian Conical hat, exposing his tobacco-stained teeth through unzipped lips, called out, "Grace over here. Your quarter's waiting." "Coming, sir," he quickly answered. Grace looked at his little sister, picked up an apple from the basket and plied into his pant pocket. His sister gave a cunning smile. As they came to collect the wage, John's vigilant eyes spied on Grace's bulged pocket, and he pounced on it like a hungry beast. "You stole, you puppy?" he raised his fist threateningly and snatched away that prize out of Grace's vulnerable defence.

"We don't allow thievery, here. Get lost and no payment today. Starve and learn to beheave," John spat out. "Give us the fruit, it's my brother's earning," the little girl opposed. John smirked, looked at the smooth, shiny apple and put a bite on that. Sela stared at the apple with avaricious eyes knowing that they had no share in God's grace.