The Apple That Would Not Rot

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It was discovered by accident.

An old man named Elias tended a modest orchard on the outskirts of a sleepy town called Dovewood. The orchard had once belonged to his father, and his father’s father before him — a family of apple growers for generations. The trees were old, their trunks twisted, their bark peeling like sunburnt paper. The fruit was never abundant, but it was sweet and dependable.

Elias lived alone, and age had made his routines slow, deliberate. He picked apples in the autumn, stored the best in baskets, and left the bruised ones for the birds and deer. One September morning, after a long night of rain, he found something strange beneath the tallest tree in the eastern grove.

An apple. Bright red. Smooth as glass. With no blemishes. No insects. No stem.

It hadn’t been there the day before. He was sure of it.

He picked it up. It was warm to the touch, though the air was chilled from the rain. Its skin was taut and firm. It felt… unreal somehow, like holding a perfect memory of an apple rather than the fruit itself.

He brought it inside and placed it on the windowsill.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then a month.

And the apple never changed.

It didn’t brown. It didn’t soften. No mold appeared. Its shine remained constant, unaffected by sun or shade, cold or warmth. It didn’t shrink. It didn’t attract flies. It simply stayed — flawless.

Elias, both fascinated and unnerved, began to keep notes.

Day 13: No change. No smell.
Day 21: Still firm. Put it next to other apples. They rotted. It didn’t.
Day 34: Dreamt about it. Woke up with it in my hand. Don’t remember moving it.
Day 51: Tried to cut it open. Knife wouldn’t penetrate.

By the second month, word had spread. First to the grocer. Then the librarian. Then, somehow, to a local reporter. The story was picked up by a regional paper: “The Eternal Apple: Dovewood’s Curious Fruit.”

Soon, scientists came. Then spiritualists. Then skeptics. Everyone wanted to see the unrotting apple.

They ran tests. X-rays, UV light, microscopes. They took readings and samples — or tried to. The apple resisted everything. Tools dulled when they tried to cut it. Scanners gave inconclusive results. Some readings spiked inexplicably — magnetic fields, radiation, bioelectric signals — then went flat again.

No one could explain it.

Elias refused to sell it. Not to collectors, not to researchers, not even to museums. “It’s not mine to give,” he said quietly, though no one knew what he meant.

What unnerved people most was how alive it seemed. Some swore it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Others said that when they stared at it too long, they felt memories bubbling up — some theirs, some not. One woman fainted after touching it and claimed she saw an orchard that stretched into forever, under a sky with two moons.

The apple, meanwhile, sat on the windowsill. Silent. Eternal.

Over time, the crowds faded. New distractions came. The world moved on, as it always does.

But Elias did not.

He began speaking to it.

Not out loud — not at first. But over the months, something in him changed. He no longer felt alone. He stopped listening to the radio. Stopped answering the door. The orchard became overgrown, wild. But the apple remained — untouched by dust or decay, as radiant as the day he found it.

One winter night, during the first snow, Elias passed away in his sleep.

When neighbors found him days later, they said his expression was peaceful, like someone who had heard the answer to a lifelong question. He held something in his hands, but it crumbled to dust when touched — sweet-smelling dust, like blossoms in spring.

The apple, however, was gone.

No one knows where it went. Some say it vanished with Elias. Others claim it appears to those who need it most — that it travels, silent and unseen, from soul to soul. A teacher in another country once wrote of a fruit that saved a dying child. A monk in the Himalayas described a vision of a single apple in an empty field that restored his faith. A sculptor said she dreamed of biting into a perfect fruit and waking with her lost inspiration returned.

The stories vary. But the pattern remains.

An apple that will not rot.

Some say it’s cursed. Others believe it’s divine — the first fruit of some forgotten tree. Some whisper it is time itself, wrapped in skin and sweetness.

But no one really knows.

And somewhere, in some quiet place, the apple waits — not to be eaten, but to be understood.

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Some fruits feed the body—this one feeds the soul.

Note:
Thank you for reading “The Apple That Would Not Rot”! This is a story in a series created for avid readers and English learners who want to enjoy captivating tales while practicing their language skills. Stay tuned for more stories and language tips to enhance your journey!

Explore more short stories in English and Spanish by visiting the section:
Short Stories / Cuentos Cortos

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When the world feels dull, your mind restless, or your heart heavy, let a story be your escape. Just one page, one sentence, one word—and suddenly, you’re somewhere new, where imagination breathes life into the ordinary and turns the simplest moments into magic.

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