was at market today with my father (who is frankly a wild ape of a man) and i was trying to sell a single apple from my scrawny and shriveled tree. the apple itself however had a plump and rustic charm, almost flirtatious, and i thought to myself well surely someone will see the value in this apple and i can turn a tidy profit and go on my merry way. well no sooner had i attracted the attention of an interested buyer (a comely maiden to boot) than my father revealed to me that in his lackadaisical idiocy he had eaten the apple on the road. i asked him what exactly i was supposed to sell at market now, to which he responded im sure youâll think of something, demonstrating to me that which i already knew: he was an imbecile with no modicum of grasp for the idiosyncrasies of mercantilism. but that was not the end of my troubles; nay, it was but the first chapter in a manuscript of misery, for as i turned to apologize to the maiden and endeavored to explain the predicament we now found ourselves in i could see stark displeasure writ plain across her previously affable visage. it was only then i realized her identity: marguerite, daughter of the baron, known for her fickle nature and her tendency to sic the village guard on those foolish enough to earn her ire, and though just minutes previously i had thought myself quite the intellectual giant (having nearly managed, you will recall, to sell a single apple to a lady of some means, sight unseen) i was forced to concede that i was said fool. it was then that i began to panic, and in my haste i offered the young mistress an apple even more enchanting than the first; one, i claimed, i had been saving for his majesty the king. well marguerite is nothing if not a covetous and prideful harpy, and thusly my promise quelled her bloodlust. she bade me fetch the apple at once, to which i replied that iâd need to return to my farmstead and i should be glad to present it to her at next weeks market. nonsense, said she, and insisted instead upon accompanying me and my incomprehensible dolt of a father back to our home immediately, escorted by a retinue of armed guards. now i imagine it is quite clear to those with half a head on their shoulders that i am in possession of no such apple, nor is it likely that a fruit of such splendor could even exist, and so frankly i am pretty much fucked
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