Genesis Orchard : II : Mammon
An excerpt from The Scroll of Apple Rot
Apple Rot
Translated excerpt from The Scroll, as preserved by the Traveller.
These words were not meant to be spoken. They were not meant to be written. They were not meant to be read. And yet they are here, and so you will know…
What follows is one of the seven visions. I retell it not with the tongue of the scholar, but as I saw it in the dark valley of the tree.
This is an invitation to a Dream of Genesis.
A salesman arrived without footsteps.
No one remembers the arrival.
No one remembers the disappearance.
The salesman carried no wares. Only an empty bag.
When it opened its mouths to speak,
instead of words,
coins clattered against the soil…
Heaps of gold scattered around the Orchard.
The thieves came.
They always come.
The Orchard’s rot tastes sweet to them.
And the reward is plentiful.
The trees bent low,
dropping swollen fruit.
Each core black and covered in fungus.
They ate. They sold.
They returned.
They ate. They sold.
They returned.
With every bite and every bargain,
the salesman pressed a coin into their palms.
The cycle kept feeding the rotten soil.
Gold coins pushed upward,
blooming where the fallen apples bled.
But the Orchard is not generous.
The salesman smiled.
The thieves do not laugh.
The thieves often weep.
They only know their need for more.
And the counting never ends…
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