At first, all he felt was an itching; a tingling between his shoulder blades. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t make it stop. In frustration he ripped off his shirt and tried to see the source of the problem.As he twisted in the bathroom mirror, he could make out two small nubs. Huh, that’s weird, he thought. He pressed down on them firmly with two fingers and they flattened. There, gone! he said to himself, satisfied.
But in the morning, they were back. And worse, there were two more nubs, beneath them.
Feeling frightened, he decided the best course of action was to ignore them. But it was soon apparent, he could not.
As the days and weeks passed, the nubs became short twigs; the twigs became branches; the branches sprouted leaves. Soon, they had even started to flower.
His mother had tapered his clothing as best she could to accommodate the new growths. But that didn’t stop people from staring at him and calling him names.
Eventually, the flowers blossomed into fruit. His favourite fruit in fact. Apples.
Under the weight of the heavy branches, laden with juicy red and green apples, he lay down on the grass in defeat. He wished he’d never told his mum he wanted more fruit. Witches had the most wicked sense of humour.