Tim and The Orange Tree Grove

       There once was a boy named Tim.  Tim lived in an orange tree grove.  This orange tree grove had only one tree.  It was an orange tree.  Tim spent his days taking care of the orange tree and eating it's oranges.
       Tim had no friends, but a ladder.  This is the ladder he used to climb the orange tree.  The ladder was old and crooked, but the tree was strong and hefty.  The ladder's unstable legs rested in-dubiously upon the tree's tenacious truck.
       The tree's oranges, which Tim feasted off of as they were his only source of food and water, were plump and satiating.  Tim never grew tired of them.  Of course, Tim knew no other foods, there was nothing in his life to be desired.    
       See, Tim never knew how he arrived at the orange tree grove, but he had lived in the orange tree grove with the one tree for as long as he could remember.  As always, it was just him and the orange tree.
       Sometimes Tim wondered if there were others like him.  Sometimes he wondered if there were other orange trees.  Sometimes he wondered how he came to be.  But he never wondered for too long, for Tim was happy.
       Unbeknownst to Tim, Tim was abandoned as an infant.  He was placed by the orange tree, and was never thought of again.  Crafty little baby that he was, he managed to survive off the fruits of the orange tree and grow into self-resourceful young man.
       Tim grew up to be a lively little fellow.  He often found joy in running through the open fields of the grove on days when the sun was really shining.  Something about the way the sun glistened off of the oranges on the tree really made him feel alive.
       And then one day, Tim died.  It was malnutrition.  Those oranges can really do a number on your stomach.  All that acidity you know.

The Wordless Maid

There once was a wordless maid.  Well, she wasn’t always wordless.  In fact, when she was a child, she was neither wordless NOR a maid, can you believe that?  But kids grow up and people become maids and some of those maids become wordless. 

As I implied, the wordless maid was once a very chatty child.  She would blabber anything that came to mind to anyone who would listen.  She talked so much that by the time she was fifteen she was starting to seriously run out of things to say.  Everyone she knew would complain about her repeated stories and droning “insights.”  She talked and spoke but no one ever really thought she actually said anything. 

When the wordless maid turned seventeen, instead of pursuing her education like most, she entered into a maid service.  She befriended her fellow employees and would talk and talk and blabber and blabber to them.  One day, one of the maids who was particularly sick of listening to the wordless maid drone on and on all the while not say anything of any significance said to her “I really wish you would stop talking unless you actually have something to say!” 

It was if the wordless maid had had the wind knocked out of her.  She had no idea anyone felt that way about her!  She didn’t know what to say!  She had no words.  She was, for the first time, speechless.

From that day on the wordless maid never spoke another word.  At first, it was out of spite, but eventually she learned that even long after she had forgiven the other maid for her remark, she really had nothing to say.  Her opinions were redundant and uninspired.  Her observations were obvious.  Her life experience was bland.  She had nothing to contribute.  So simply, she never spoke.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years.  The wordless maid was wordless.  All muscles involved in speech had deteriorated.  Her tongue, once a muscular chubby organ, was now a lifeless thin slab of meat, which rested gently on her lower jaw.

One night, the wordless maid was tidying up a room when she heard a piercing scream from outside.  She went to the window and she saw a woman running for her life as a man chased her with a steak knife.  She could see the steak knife’s glint as it caught light from the moon.  The man caught up to the woman and began to stab her repeatedly.  The wordless maid wanted to scream and yell for help, but she couldn’t.  No noise would erupt from her mouth, which was helplessly held wide open.
Unable to scream for help, the wordless maid realized she could only watch.  And that she did, for she could not look away.

            And now the wordless maid, who lived a sorrowing life, now leads one of not only sorrow, but guilt.