The Forgotten Fruit

A story of pain, loss, and love

The warm glow from the dwindling candle revealed a tired and leathered face in the cracked reflection. Dirt caked the top layer of the man’s skin and remained there. For a split second, he wondered who was staring back at him, struggling to understand his place in a world he helped shape.

Raising a blunt and rusty razor to his neck, the man intently listened to the friction ripping against his cold skin. Instead of tapping the shaver into a bowl of water and lubricating the blade, Rico had to complete this task without such luxury.

The blood ran under his cheek and dribbled down his slender neck. The cuts were often painful but supplied the necessary proof that he could still feel. This pain served as a constant reminder that life had been far kinder to him than those lying on the wrong side of the grass.

Rico removed a transparent tube from out of his pocket and showed it to the light. Bar from a few pills anchored to the bottom, the self- prescribed medication had run its course. He flipped the lid with his thumb and emptied one pill on to his palm. Popping it into his mouth, he snapped his head back and forced the medicine down with the little saliva he had left.

His thoughts lead him back to his family, who was cuddled up and sleeping inside the corrugated iron walls of their makeshift home. Navigating through the poorly lit room required the use of his hands and feet. Clumsily, he knocked over a small chair, causing an echo to reverberate through the container. Within seconds Rico found himself cast out into a beam of light where he had no choice but to stare down the barrel of his gun.

The woman holding the gun once possessed a gentle and angelic face. Rosa’s eyes were now wild-like, and her reactions primal in nature. Primed and ready to defend her young. When it was apparent that he wasn’t a bandit, she exhaled slowly, placing an index finger over her lips. Rico looked across at his sleeping daughter, who clutched tightly to a teddy bear.

Before he closed his eyes, there was something that Rico needed to address. His condition was deteriorating, and the medication available to him was running dangerously low. There was no telling how badly it would impact his ability when the pills were no longer at his disposal.

The people looking in would be none-the-wiser at first. Yet from inside the driver’s cab, his hands would start to slip from the wheel. Still propped up in the driver’s seat, Rico would inevitably lose control. The views whizzing past his window would be seen but never captured.

This memory loss would eventually have a detrimental effect on his loved ones. To survive in the old world without a guardian was hard enough, let alone in this modern-day hell hole. It was in this tangent he hoped that for one time in humanity’s lousy existence, the chain linking the past and future would snap in two. Instead of blaming the generation that came before, the young would instead be in admiration of their forefather’s achievements, having left the planet in a far better condition than the one they inherited.

Rico woke up the following morning and carried out his daily tasks. Due to the monotonous routine of his day, there was no hint that he was slowly losing his mind. He would often be subjected to pains in his temple but shrugged it off — blaming it on dull headaches brought on by dehydration. This excuse would be mulled over by his daughter, who could always tell when he was lying.

Veronica was the mirror image of her mother, from her dark features down to the freckles that bridged her nose. She would usually be playing with her dolls or scribbling things in her sketchbook. For some unknown reason, Veronica was obsessed with an orange crayon that she had somehow misplaced. It was for this reason that her father called her: ‘Pumpkin.’

He sat down beside her and flicked through the sketchbook. The one picture that made him pause for thought was the drawing of a house in an open field. The property had many windows and provided a perfect backdrop for a family gathering. A smile started to form at the corner of his mouth as he identified himself, holding hands with his wife.

The smile soon vanished when Rico noticed the extra family member holding hands with his daughter — this Stickman character was the phantom brother who never had the chance to be born.

As much as Rico wanted to have a little brother for Veronica to play with, the current climate made it impossible for that dream to materialise. To raise his daughter was hard enough without having another mouth to feed. Her life was not how childhood should be, but given the circumstances, it was the best one they could provide. It was therefore inevitable that Veronica would grow up as an only child.

Not wanting his wife to get upset by this drawing, Rico delicately ripped the page out of the sketchbook and folded it up for safekeeping. There were so many drawings of just the three of them that he believed it would disappear unnoticed.

This bout of sadness soon morphed into fear as the page on the opposite side depicted a tall gothic structure scribbled out in black and red crayon. It was the very wall that stood between him and his family’s freedom. There were rumours that beyond this security perimeter were a working democracy that had managed to stay afloat during the troubles.

It was a mystery how his daughter had come to learn about such things. Rico put it down to his daughter eavesdropping on conversations that he and his wife would have, all of which would typically end up in a full-blown row. Rico’s argument was the following: The road to the border was one of the most dangerous on earth, and despite the stories of people making it across, the chances of completing the journey without incident were zero.

Despite this, Rico continued to tell his wife that he couldn’t risk putting their lives in danger. Eventually, their rations would run out, but he would scout out new places and find a way to survive as they had always done. They were less likely to run into gang members or bandits if they stayed put.

Starting his daily rounds, Rico left the container and ventured outside to wander the junkyard and its unwanted contents. It was light out, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from the ash stricken clouds that rumbled and grumbled along the horizon. It was always chilly no matter the season, and this was partly caused by the sun being blocked out by this sinister-looking blanket.

There was a time when the sky above their heads was a pastel blue. He remembered when sections were chalked over by vapour lines expelled out of the engines of passing aircraft. Now there were was nothing — no blue sky and no traffic, in this airspace or any other.

It was then the sharp pains returned as memories of the past began to distort the world around him. Trying to block out what was real and what wasn’t, Rico failed to stop his mind from being infiltrated by parts of his subconscious he had no control over. The fabric of reality began to rip apart in front of him. The blindfold had now slipped over his eyes, and he was no longer able to see the world and its horrors.

The panic piled upon him was hard to put into context at first. His wife raced around like a blue arsed fly, picking up their belongings and throwing them into a duffle bag. Something was wrong, and the rumour sweeping through his entire body confirmed his worse fears.

Confused, he found himself holding a wad of cash in one hand and a loaded revolver in the other. Although Rico didn’t know what was going on, it quickly dawned on him that he and his family were in danger. Improvising, Rico put the cash in his pocket and called his daughter before him. Peeling the hair from out of her face, he instinctively grabbed Veronica’s small frame and held her tighter than he had intended to.

“Okay, Pumpkin, I want you to listen very carefully. Bad people are coming, and they want to cause us harm. Remember what we said. You have to be as quiet as possible just-”

Veronica interrupted her father and gently whispered:

“Like a mouse.”

He tried to offer a smile to his clever daughter, but the muscle memory under his skin remained rigid. Unintentionally, the fear racing through Rico’s mind was now being conducted through his hands and into Veronica’s body.

With conviction, Rico dragged his family out of their tin home and out into the knacker’s yard. A chorus of laughter from close by prompted the family to take refuge behind a burnt-out car. The sound of heavy footsteps on metal grew louder as the bandits drew closer. Howling and shouting, they danced from roof to roof. With his revolver resting on the frame of the car door, Rico and his family waited silently. They prayed for the intruders to pass without knowing they were there.

The three men skipped across the containers. Their identity was obscured by white paint covering the breadth of their faces — Their eyes and mouths blotched out with the use of old shoe polish.

The Leader wore a full black brimmed hat and a blazer in a dress code similarly matched by the others. The bandits were on the lookout for an opportunity, yet nothing so far gave them a reason to stop. The mood changed when the Leader’s demeanour suddenly shifted. Holding out his closed fist, he instructed his men to halt. Lowering his centre of gravity, he slowly placed one foot in front of the other and tried to remain low and unseen.

Rico anxiously wondered what the gang leader had seen to cause such a sudden change in his reaction. In their desperate attempt to leave home in an orderly manner, Rico and his family had forgotten to shut the container door behind them.

The bandits now had a reason to stop, and the three opportunists jumped down to the ground. Two bandits peeled out from their formation and stormed the container. With his heart racing, Rico could hear his collection of valuables be thrown and manhandled by those hell-bent on destruction.

The Leader of the pack didn’t move an inch from where he landed. Set in stone, he slowly examined the junkyard without using a single muscle in his neck. His eyes picked up most of the slack and scanned the area dominated by rusted parts and disused appliances.

This act was interrupted by one of his men, who presented him with a garment of underwear belonging to Rosa. The Leader held them up by their lace and examined the fabric in detail. Raising his face to the sky, the Leader couldn’t resist showing the world a glimpse of his soulless eyes.

“Boys, we have ourselves some fresh meat on offer…” He shouted while licking his painted lips. The Leader followed this up by sniffing the air as though he had the heightened senses of a wolf.

“I promise we won’t hurt you; we’re just looking for a female companion to keep us warm during those cold and lonely nights.”

The blood coursed through Rico’s veins. He tore his wandering mind away from the thoughts of what might become of his two girls if snatched. The crosshair remained trained onto the Leader as the chances of him needing to pull the trigger were rising.

The last bandit appeared from out of the container in receipt of an item that was of great interest.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The Leader snatched the sketchbook from his understudies’ grasp and eagerly skimmed through the pages. He stopped at one drawing and scrutinized the picture.

“Now that is cute. It is a sunny day, and I can see mummy and daddy outside their big house holding hands with their beautiful little daughter Veronica, aged six.”

The two bandits showed their pleasure by howling in fits of uncontrollable laughter.

“I’ve never liked children, but maybe in time I would grow to love her…”

It was if the Leader was speaking to the parents directly, assured that they were close by and watching his every move. By chance, his eyes darted over to the burnout vehicle where the family was hiding behind. Cocking his head at an angle, he waited to see if there was any movement. With his arms outstretched be his side, the Leader sauntered towards the car.

“Come to Papa!”

A scream stopped the Leader in his tracks. It came from across the yard and made everyone stop and lookup. The bandits looked at one another briefly and paused. The Leader also became distracted, worried the family he was after had been attacked or seized by other gang members. Not wanting to miss out on their share, he took one more glance at the burnout vehicle before chuckling to himself. The Leader tipped his hat in the direction of the rusted old car before making off with his men.

Rico turned and rested the back of his head on the car door. Their good fortune meant that some other poor soul would be at the bandits’ mercy. It was safe to say that the time for empathy was not in those moments, and this sentiment was shared by Rico who knew the bandits could return at any moment. Leaving no time to waste, Rico led his family through several different paths out of the yard and onto the main road.

Vulnerable and out in the open urban suburbs, they each scouted the streets for anything that moved. The family waited for the sun to go down and used the darkness as a cloak to navigate their way to safety. There were moments in the silence where Rico’s mind would meander to a time in the not so distant past.

Houses that once belonged to decent working people were now ransacked and boarded up with slabs of wood. The properties that were still standing were either abandoned or used by gangs to move drugs and guns.

Carefully and with a degree of patience, the family cut down the back of one of their old friends’ gardens that lead to an overgrown and disused railway line. This pathway diverged into a tunnel which would provide some shelter until they worked out their next steps. Depleted of energy, and in the knowledge that his wife and child were safe, Rico sat up against the damp brick wall and wondered when this struggle would end.

Unable to stop himself from nodding off, Rico was unaware that he was drifting into a subconscious state. The void’s dark and slippery hand reached out and grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him unwilling, down into the abyss.

A mirage of memories began to focus in and out of view. The outside sounds around Rico were robotic and distorted at first, and his vision took a while to align into something remotely normal. Slowly adjusting, Rico finally stirred, feeling as though he had woken for the very first time.

The snippets of memories he did manage to grasp were vague and dreamlike in their configuration. He remembered handing over his revolver and a chunk of money to a stranger, before jumping into the back of a van full of random people.

Who were these people he wondered? Where did they come from?

Instinctively, he searched for his wife and child, relieved to find them both nestled under each arm. Kissing their sleeping heads, he held them tightly, relieved that his condition had not rendered him completely useless. The feelings he held manifested themselves into tears that cascaded down both of his cheeks.

Rico failed to recognise his surroundings as rows of ancient trees replaced the urban buildings. The snakelike roots had wormed their way to the surface and punctured through parts of the tarmac. The sun’s ascent struggled to penetrate through the dense forest and the floating mist that hovered a foot above the ground.

“Why are we stopping Daddy?” Veronica asked as the van shunted forward.

Without time to answer the back doors swung open and the passengers were ordered out of the van. The men giving out the commands wore a camouflage uniform that once represented a country home to millions of people. Even though they didn’t lay a finger on any of the passengers, the paranoid father came to the unsettling conclusion that these men now served no one but themselves.

From that point forward, Rico couldn’t resist the urge to stare at the chunky automatic weapons each soldier carried. His eager eyes darted from the barrel to the trigger before completing the loop again. He knew better than most that chaos was only a finger click away.

The passengers gathered in a clearing, home to a disheveled shed where pots and pans boiled under a crackling fire. There were damp playing cards spread out on the table, and bottles of old wine bottles half-buried into the ground. Rico positioned his daughter close to the fire so that she wouldn’t catch a cold.

To gain further information without needing to ask, Rico stood on and eaves-dropped the soldier’s conversations to ascertain where they were heading. He had an inkling that they were on their way to the promised land. The country on the other side of the border.

Rico’s spirits lifted when he heard the soldier’s conversation, which all but confirmed his suspicions. After a long journey, he and his family were now a hair’s breadth away from reaching the Shores of liberty. Rico continued to listen on and found out that a transportation truck was heading their way and all the passengers, including his family, would be changing vehicles.

The vehicle arrived a short time after, spluttering and coughing its way to where the group of nervous passengers waited. It was an old beaten up military vehicle that looked as though it had been through the wars.

Soldiers jumped out of the front cab and walked around the sides of the car to begin untying the khaki cover that protected the truck’s contents. Pulling the sheet to the side, they unveiled what these men were transporting.

Subjected to cramp and inhumane conditions, a group of half-naked women clambered over one another to try and avert the passenger’s attention. Waving their arms frantically through the bars, they held out their hands for someone to take.

Screaming and shouting, many of these women were shaking the metal frame with all their strength. Each one broke down as their efforts amounted to nothing. Rico’s attention turned from the desperate to those women who sat in silence. Numb and vacant, their mind appeared detached from their body

Their faces were gaunt, and their skin exposed a barrage of physical torment they each had suffered. Some of the women were impossible to distinguish by their facial features alone. Their skin broke out in dark bruises and had swelled to such an extent that their eyes were now paper-thin slits.

The soldiers seemed unfazed by the task at hand and unlocked the cage door without batting an eyelid. One of the men threatened to shoot those who caused any trouble, while a few of the others continuously screamed instructions to the captives.

Some of the prisoners followed these instructions without peeling their gaze from the dirt. Their feet were blackened and worn down as they walked without any protection on their feet. Those who did try to run were thrown to the ground and subjected to public lashings.

There was one woman who was so frail that she stumbled across the clearing and landed on Rico’s boots. Veronica jumped back and hid behind her father. The woman was so hungry that she barely had any skin left on her bones. With just enough energy, she wrapped her arms around his legs and to lifted her head skyward.

“Please end my suffering.”

The cruelty and disgust of what Rico was witnessing intensified to such a degree that he felt his entire body cramp up. His hands were collapsing into fists as the soldier dragged the poor woman across the dirt. The enslaved woman's gaze remained on Rico, as she silently appealed for help. Rico moved one foot forward before his arm was grabbed and pulled back by his loyal wife.

Shaking her head slowly from side to side, Rosa silently pleaded with her husband not to embark on this one-way journey. After a moment’s consideration, he did the sensible thing and retreated to his original spot. Accepting their fate, Rico tried to hide his fury with not only the soldier’s actions but his own.

Veronica was tugging at her father’s jeans. Instinctively he picked his daughter up and held her in his arms. Expecting her to break into tears, he kissed her on her head and tried to ease her worries.

“It’s alright Pumpkin; everything is going to be alright.”

It was then the families turn to step forward into the cage. Knowing what these men were capable of, made the prospect of getting into the truck all the more frightening.

Turning his thoughts back to what he had just witnessed, Rico tried to stop himself from predicting what would come next for those poor women. He prayed for them to avoid an inevitable misery, begging God or whoever would listen, to make sure they didn’t make it to their next destination alive.

It could have been his wife or daughter in those chains, marched across the country and sold like cattle. Slaves or worse, the thought alone made him want to rip out the throats of every single man who dared to operate in such wickedness.

A tightness in his stomach brought Rico to his knees. His intestines began to contort and twist as the bile in his liver made it’s way north. Although nothing surfaced, Rico covered his mouth with his filthy hands and closed his eyes.

The physical sickness had traveled through his arteries and produced a throbbing pain in his temple. The darkness was colluding around him as his vision began to peter out around the edges. The world was fading, slowly shrinking into a pinhole of light. The frozen hand of the void clutched at the man’s ankle and dragged him down into the abyss.

There was no rhyme or reason for Rico’s awakening, yet like the last time, he returned to his body in a time of uncertainty. His breathing was erratic, and in the short time of consciousness, he was struggling to fill his lungs with air. Rico’s legs were moving on their own accord, galloping forward.

Rico’s wife and daughter were only visible in front of him due to the illumination of smoke flares. More and more beacons flew heaven-bound exposing a flock of refugees stampeding towards the border wall under a sky of fire.

The colossal brick pillars on the border were connected by wires which were typically surging with dangerous amounts of voltage. This iconic landmark stretching across the entire country was once there to stop those with no papers from getting in, now it tried to prevent people inside from getting out.

Panting and gasping for air, some refugees were struggling to find the necessary energy to propel themselves towards the finish line. The adrenaline and thirst for life pushed Rico to run faster and catch up with his wife and child who were making good ground.

Gunfire cracked the sky as bullets whistled past their heads. Some died instantly, while others yelped and tried to limp on despite their wounds. Shielding his daughter from any line of fire, Rico made sure he ran directly behind her. Any bullet that came their way would have to go through him first.

More and more people were thrown to the dust as their legs collapsed beneath them. Skidding headfirst across the sand the fallen littered the desert plain with many unable to right themselves back up.

The sheer size of the wall was something to behold. Yet for all its menace and reputation, it was now a symbol of hope. Realising this was the last hurdle, Rico began to revel in victory. Despite all of the horrors and suffering they endured, he and his family had made it.

This moment was extremely short-lived when he felt a sharp pain. Crying out in agony, Rico pulled up and looked down at the bullet wedged deep inside his thigh. Trying to stop the bleeding with his hand, he carried on limping towards the finish line.

Unable to keep the pace, Rico’s leg suddenly gave way. Turning to see her husband fall, Rosa courageously carried on with her daughter and sprinted towards the wall. Kneeling on the ground, Rico knew he would die with the satisfaction of watching his girls cross the border into Mexico.

Despite the ground shaking beneath him, Rico imagined running with his wife and daughter across the plains to their new home. If there was one memory he wanted to hold onto before he left, it was this one. He opened his arms and invited the darkness to come and take him away for the very last time.

There was no need to stay longer than he needed to. With his injury and his fading memory, Rico knew there was no future where he belonged. The outcome was always going to be the same. In every scenario, Rico remained separated from his family.

Rico rolled onto his back and looked up to the night sky. The feeling of relief washed over him when the darkness returned. He felt himself being lifted off the ground by what he could only describe as a dark shadow. Rico rose into the air and was carried away to a place not everyone would get the chance to see.

The artificial glow from the lamp revealed a tired and leathered face in the reflection. Sweat drenched the top layer of the man’s skin now lathered in shaving foam. For an hour or so, he wondered who was staring back at him — struggling to understand his place in a world he had helped shape.

Raising a sharp razor to his neck, the man intently listened to the friction ripping against his warm skin. Tapping the shaver into the sink of water, he noticed a stream of blood dribbling down his slender neck. Grabbing a towel that was hanging from the hook, he took one last look in the mirror before switching off the light.

Venturing across the hallway, he felt severe pain in his thigh. This sharp sensation stopped him directly in front of a framed picture hanging on the wall. The colourful piece had been folded into four and showed a house full of windows. The sun was shining down on a family who stood hand in hand on the porch steps. His eyes scanned the characters with drawn-out smiles, and the signature of a girl scribbled in the bottom right-hand corner.

Rico repeated the girl’s name over and over while scratching his head. He dropped the towel on the floor and shrugged his shoulders after no connection came forth. Finding himself in the living room, he admired the low beamed ceiling and its spacious open plan.

In one of the corners sat a collection of toys sprayed out across the floor. Despite the organisation, Rico was careful not to trip over any of the building blocks laid scattered across the wooden floor. On the chimney breast sat a photograph of a girl holding a young boy in her arms.

Who were these children? He wondered. Where were their parents?

Placing the photograph back on the mantelpiece, Rico ventured into the kitchen. A large window offered a view of a garden that supported life of all kinds. The sky appeared streaked in a haze of blues and pinks that combined to make a shade of colour Rico had never seen before. The light slowly dwindled behind the hills providing a backdrop straight out of a film studio.

Under one of the trees sat a young girl whose dark hair jumped out from the earthy colours that surrounded her. With a sketchbook stretched out across her lap, she applied her brush with such intensity that she rarely looked up from the page.

Wanting to know who the artist was, Rico stepped out of the doorway. Hobbling along the uneven grass a few fallen apples crunched under his foot. This caused him to roll his ankle and stumble. It was this awkward movement that caused the girl to lapse in concentration.

Looking up from her sketchpad, the artist jumped off the ground and wrapped her arms around her father. Despite the distant stare and the confused expression, she had slowly come to grips with her father’s condition. Deep down, Veronica knew that whatever happened, she would always be her father’s little Pumpkin.

Dean Middleburgh is a writer that has had the good fortune to write for P.S. I love you, The Junction, Invisible Illness, ILLUMINATION, The New North and Storymaker. If you liked this story click the one below.