Page 15 - Wiggly the Worm

Mac Apple’s Lucky Day

acintosh the apple, or Mac as he liked to be called, stared dismally down
Mthrough the branches of the tree where he had grown. All of the other ap-
ples from Mac’s tree had been picked, but poor Mac had been forgotten. Now
he was the only apple left in the tree.

The fall breeze was frigid, and Mac felt jealous of his friends, who had been
gathered into baskets by the family who owned the backyard with the apple
tree. Mac knew that they would soon be made into apple pies or applesauce
or packed into school lunches for the kids. But that was the point of being an
apple—to be eaten.

Now I’ll never get that chance, Mac told himself sadly. All my friends are gone,
and I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my days. An apple-juice tear had
just squeezed its way out of the corner of Mac’s eye, when the stiff wind sud-
denly picked up, knocking Mac from the high tree branch where he’d spent his
entire life.

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