Day Twenty-Three: The Hallucinogenic Fruit (Part One)

Those pale red fruits were not abundant; I had been searching since morning, and only now had I finally found them. Under the cover of last night’s mist, they seemed freshly washed, shining with an alluring luster.

One after another, I plucked them, not thinking much, just mechanically gathering every last one until none remained, then placing all of them into my backpack.

The backpack wasn’t a reward from him; he simply let me take it so I could carry more than just those juicy fruits. He said he'd grown sick of eating them and wanted me to find something tastier for him. So, to let me bring back more, he tossed me the backpack that was originally mine anyway.

I began walking toward the cabin. I thought I would be happy, but instead, I was filled with anxiety. To my surprise, I was actually afraid! I was worried!

I feared he would discover my plan, consequences I could not bear.

I worried he might die from eating too many of the fruits.

“I never meant to harm anyone. I’m only doing this to survive!” I tried to comfort myself, attempting to push down these thoughts.

I have no intention of harming others, yet he bullies me beyond reason!

The cabin soon stood before me. The familiar door was tightly shut; even with the sun overhead, he was still sleeping!

I hesitated. Several times I nearly turned and left.

Never before had I felt such inner turmoil; I paced back and forth so many times I lost count.

“Well, boy, you’re here?” That sharp, grating, nightmarish voice pierced my ears with pain.

“Yes.”

“Oh? Let’s see what you’ve got. If it’s those damn bird fruits again, I’ll smash your head in!”

“It’s... it’s... new... new...” I could hardly believe it—facing the gun in his hand, my tongue seemed to tie itself in knots, unable to speak smoothly. The more nervous I became, the harder it was to speak clearly, which made me all the more anxious.

“Ha, new is good. Kid, you’re pretty sensible after all,” he said with a glance, his tone indifferent.

I knew he was waiting for me to bring out the goods to see if they’d please him.

I wasn’t sure if the pale red fruits would satisfy him, or if he’d once again unleash his anger on me.

Another voice in my mind whispered, “He won’t kill you; he needs you. You’re his slave—without you, he’d have to do everything himself! Someone like him can’t manage that, no, he definitely can’t!” That’s what I thought, but my hands still trembled, so much that while taking off my backpack, I accidentally dropped it to the floor.

“Ha! Didn’t expect you to be such a coward. I haven’t even pointed the gun at you and you’re already this scared. Useless! I wonder how someone like you even survived!”

“Come on, put the stuff in the cabin. As long as you behave and do as I say, I’ll reward you. Maybe I’ll even take you away from this place.”

I could clearly hear the falseness in his words. I knew to him, I was nothing but a tool to be used.

I gently placed the bag on the floor of the cabin and unzipped it.

“What the hell is this supposed to be? Are you looking to die? You brought these fruits again? Trying to fool me?” He uncrossed his arms, pressing the gun hard against my head and cursing viciously.

The two kinds of fruit did look somewhat similar, but this one was paler, a light red. He couldn’t tell them apart, but I knew well that these tasted better than the red ones—otherwise, I wouldn’t have eaten so many last time.

He pressed the gun so hard against my skull I had to tilt my head to the side. I had no choice. I was angry, furious even.

But fear overwhelmed my mind—my legs trembled slightly. I didn’t want to die.

“They... they... they’re not... not... the same,” I tried my best to explain.

“Still arguing?” He kicked me hard in the chest. I was crouching, presenting my offering.

The blow caught me off guard; my face slammed into the floor, splitting my lip on my teeth so that blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

“Get up and eat!” He grabbed two fruits and hurled them at me.

One hit my face, the other struck behind my ear. The pain and humiliation nearly drove me mad.

But then there was Blackie—he couldn’t do without me right now. So I forced myself to swallow my rage once more.

I opened my mouth wide and bit down hard on the fruit, chewing furiously.

I didn’t really want to eat; I was venting all my anger, resentment, and humiliation on the fruit itself.

Very soon, I’d swallowed them both, pits and all. I didn’t care what I was eating—I just wanted to chew them up and make them vanish.

Seeing how quickly I finished, he seemed satisfied.

He put away his gun, gave me another kick to the shins, then shouted “Get lost!” in my ear.

I felt as if my eardrums had burst, my head ringing incessantly.

I hated him!

“When I get your gun, I’ll make sure you’re the one who has to crawl away!” I thought, burning with anger.

Yet, even now, I was surprised to find I hadn’t thought of shooting him dead once I got the gun. That surprised me.

The subconscious speaks the truth—it was urging me to answer violence with violence.

But after so many years in a civilized society, I simply couldn’t do it.

I don’t know how long I lingered there. I closed the door for him, left the cabin, and on my way out, I heard the “crunch, crunch” of him eating...

I made my way to Blackie. His vitality was stronger than I’d imagined. When he saw me, he even pushed himself up and wagged his tail.

He was so perceptive, almost human. It was as if he was telling me not to worry, that he was all right.

I’m a sentimental person. Looking at Blackie in that state, I didn’t even realize when tears had begun to wet the corners of my eyes.

I untied the bandage on his hind leg. The wound hadn’t yet healed; the flesh had turned pale, and pus and blood oozed down his gray-black fur at the slightest touch.

Though I was gentle as I squeezed out the pus, I could feel his muscles trembling beneath my fingers.

“It must hurt a lot,” I said to him.

He made no sound, but the way his head shook and his limbs tensed made his feelings perfectly clear.

After changing the dressing with another clean strip of cloth, I watched as Blackie collapsed again, eyes closing.

I stroked him from his back to his head, and every now and then, he’d open his eyes to look at me, his tail giving a weak wag.

I could only hope that in this way, I might ease his pain, if only a little.