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Why should she not eat it? She hadn't been told why, simply that she mustn't. She picked it up and held it close to her nose, savouring the scent. She rolled it around in her hands, marvelling at the gradations of colour, the subtle patterning, the smoothness of the skin that held such delight in its firm grasp. Tantalising!
Tentatively, she licked the surface of the fruit. There! No harm had come to her from that. Possibly she had misheard – perhaps she had been advised not to eat it, not ordered. There was only one apple in the bowl. Maybe someone else wanted to make sure it would be theirs. Greedy! Unkind!
The longer she caressed the apple the better she was able to convince herself that the order which was advice was really merely a suggestion. Finally, in her mind, no words were spoken - just a gesture had been made, a little smile and a shake of the head, almost as if to say, 'You do love apples, don't you?'
She sighed happily and took a bite from the apple. At once she screamed in pain. Her mother rushed into the room.
'Eve', she cried, 'I told you not to eat that apple. Now you've broken that bad tooth and the dentist will have difficulty extracting it.'
Eve sobbed, her tooth exposed and raw, just like the rapidly browning flesh of her favourite fruit.
