Photo courtesy of Mensatic, Morguefile

John’s skin was prickled by the heat as he climbed into the apple tree to pick the last of the fruit from the highest branches, sweat trickling down his spine as the sweet nectar filled his nostrils.

Hauling himself stiffly to the top of the rickety wooden ladder, he reached out with a grunt and plucked an apple to the right of him.  Just then, he saw a glimmer of light from the corner of his eye, heard a roar which chilled him to his marrow, followed by the whoosh and snap of leathery wings.

Please, not that.

Not again.


About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using Stumbleupon.com, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
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