The Pygmy Giant

by Annabel Redman

Even before I tried it, I knew this pear was going to be the best I had ever tasted. The smooth, shiny skin was pale green, a mysterious colour that reminded me simultaneously of deep, dark, forest-covered mountains and the uniform squares of green lawn at Wimbledon; both were images I associated with summer, with freedom. A perfectly round body was topped with a tapered end, like the hat of a grand sorcerer, crowned by a delicate yet strong stem of deepest, richest brown.

Indeed, the pear was a work of art, and I felt privileged to clutch it in my small, sweaty hand, careful not to squeeze it to tight, or, worst of all, drop it. Just holding the beautiful piece of fruit made me quiver with nervous excitement. That I, lowliest of the low, should be worthy to hold such a fine specimen, nearly overwhelmed me, but I was determined to act in a manner that befitted this wondrous, miraculous pear.

And yet, the pear was by no means the greatest honour bestowed upon me on this fine day. The pear was merely one of many belonging to the renowned orchard of Miss Amelia Brocklehurst, my benefactor, my idol, my love. If it were possible, the pear was made even lovelier by the knowledge that it had been caressed by her sweet hand. Her glittering hazel eyes met mine, and she whispered tenderly, “Taste it. Take a bite, Arthur.”

Elation overcame me, I was buoyed up and realised that nothing would ever be able to drag me down from my cloud of ecstasy. I was seized by a sudden courage, and brought the miraculous object to my lips, my eyes never leaving those of Miss Amelia. Encouraged by her teasing smile, I sank my teeth into the soft fruit, eagerly anticipating the sweet taste…

I hurriedly spat out my mouthful and stared, aghast, at the deceitful pear, where jutting out of the malicious flesh could be seen the writhing body of half a maggot. I looked up in time to see Amy sprinting across the playground, laughing her head off with the rest of year 6.

My pear of life was nothing but a pear of lies.

I wept.

–

Annabel Redman is 16, addicted to reading and would love to be an author one day.