The Holy Fruit

The beating of the quiet chest, then came the Holy water. Suckled from the orifice of a gargantuan, tropical fruit, opened in a coned split in the centre. Leaves like wings hung from the magical tree, arms stretching and inviting. The sky fell through; a blue deeper than the sea puddling in at her feet. Burbling up from the shallows, fish glided in bearing the colours of an iridescent oil in the sunshine. The water was still and clear, and framed Felicity’s grave portrait reflecting.

                ‘Give her four and leave the rest with me,’ spoke a voice.

                The water began to spit along her chin, the delicious Holy Water from the beautiful Holy fruit. What is that? She thought, staring down at her portrait framed by the shimmering water.

                ‘Give her four and close the door.’ The voice was firm and grave. Where did it come from?

                She looked around, her leg was buzzing with a light, numb pain, but she remained standing just fine. She seemed to have walked a long way, all around her was water. Across the water was a track of similar trees dotted in a pattern winding out to the hazing horizon. The sea was textured with dancing winds of fish collapsing over shallow waves.

                The chest beat again. Like a slap from the inside out.

                The water travelled through her and left a trail of what felt like hot steam along her tubes, her nose was stuffed with volcanic gunge. Her eyes were pasted with tears that were slowly congealing. Everything was becoming stiff; her arms were clockwork. Her vision was dazing, her mouth was hardening. She knew- knew that she had to follow the beautiful trees. It was her purpose. It was.

                The stains of the fruit’s juices were blotting along her bare chest. She wanted more. Her legs took her slowly- she tried to speed up, but the crippling tick of her knee was loud and wound her movement to a robotic crawl.  What was crippling her? It can’t have been the water, the Holy Water. The fruits are wonderful, and they will help her. She knew this, because they were delicious.

                She followed the trees and squeezed the fruits dry, their crusted, empty shells were a breadcrumb trail connecting each tree to the other. The clear fluid that left the fruits was laced with what were perhaps seeds. She never bothered to spit them, they were just as delicious. They were hard to swallow, like hot stones.

                Her walking was steadily becoming a horrific march. Her knees ticked and cracked. Her arms were bolted straight now, her mouth was agape and tracked with dry crunchy texture. She was thirsty, and this was all she knew. The next tree… so far and so near. So close and so…

                ‘Delicious, isn’t it?’