She found herself in the produce section staring at the green apples and not knowing why. She always wanted to know why. About everything. It drove her friends nuts. Drove them away eventually. So she told herself to relax. There may be no reason she was in front of the apples vs. say the ice cream, but since she was there she might as well take a look. And look she did. Then she picked up an apple, dismissed it for lack of color, then picked up another and dismissed for too much color. One had too much wax. Another had bruises she could see. Another had bruises she could feel. Eventually she came along a good apple. Maybe not the best apple in the bunch, but a good one. That's all it was to her, a good apple. She bought the apple, digging through her purse for change, and returned home. She placed the apple in the center of her kitchen table. It was alone. That night, when the warm turned to cold and the only light was filtered from the bathroom, she picked up the apple, washed it, and took a bite. And indeed, it was a good apple. Sweet but not too sweet. Solid, but not dry. She took her time eating this good apple, occasionally flossing the skin that got stuck between her teeth. Satisfied, she relaxed, and sitting in the dark the world didn't seem so scary. She drifted to sleep with the rotten core barely registering in her dreams.