Zangoran sat on a floor of stone, cursing his luck and eating an apple. Apples were everywhere this year, growing from every tree, especially those trees that normally would not sprout any kind of fruit. This apple was a pine apple, and tasted that way.
Why, thought Zangoran, why would I ever use a wish to cause apples to grow on every tree? What madness would inspire such a wish, and what foul being read his mind and made it so?
Well, no matter. There would never be worries about starvation in the land any longer. Especially considering that the apples grew even in the coldest of winter, which is when this story happens.
And I don’t know what I am typing about.