Here’s a story– if it has a moral or a plot, please enlighten me. It was an exercise in writing for me– and, yes, it is entirely fictional. It is probably only connected to Augustine because it involves pears. Enjoy.

Roger rubbed his hands together, and wiped them on his pants. He looked up at the tree. All of the pears looked good, but he knew that the ones at the top of the tree would taste the best. He grinned. He loved a challenge, and this was one he particularly relished– he knew the neighbor’s pear trees had been unattended for years, and if he was ever going to have one of those pears, this was the year, before that new guy moved into the house. He jumped and grabbed a low hanging branch, scrambling to pull himself up. As he pulled his legs up onto the branch, testing its weight, he had a thought– he could bring a pear back for his sister, because it was her birthday. He knew that would please her, and as he climbed, he kept his eyes open for a perfectly beautiful pear, knowing that its appearance would mean more to her than its taste. That one over there looked nice, he thought, and reached for it. When he pulled it off of the branch he realized that it had a large brown spot on the side he hadn’t seen from his perch in the tree. So much for this being her perfect pear, he thought. I might as well try a bite, he added, and took one. The juice dribbled down his chin, and he licked it off- the sweetest pear that he had ever tasted. But what was at the top of the tree was bound to be better. He looked up, and kept climbing, testing each branch before placing his full weight on it. He found one or two that wouldn’t have held him, and was glad he had checked. Finally, he had reached the uppermost branches of the tree. He was surrounded by beautiful pears, and each more delicious than the last. The first bite of every piece of fruit was the best, and he tried many first bites, dropping each pear through the branches and leaves, listening to them thump softly on the ground. Finally, after he had nearly had his fill, he found a perfect, beautiful pear, and held it as he climbed back down, thinking of the delight he was sure to see on his sister’s face when he gave it to her. It would be a good birthday for her, he thought, and it had been a delicious outing for himself. Suddenly he heard a voice. “Who’s there, up in my pear tree?” Roger’s thoughts ran wild. Nobody lived in that house yet! He looked down. He couldn’t see anyone.

“I said, who’s up there in my pear tree?” the voice repeated. Whomever it was sounded angry. And the voice sounded old– Roger was confused. The new neighbors were supposed to be a young couple. “Come down here right now!” the person below called again. Roger hollered back, “Who’s there?” but then regretted it. It sounded ridiculous to his ears, and he was sure it couldn’t impress the stranger below.

“I tell you, I own this pear tree!” said the voice. Roger was about to call back a second time when he heard the click of a gun’s safety being taken off.

“Don’t shoot!” he yelled, and started climbing down the tree. He still couldn’t couldn’t see the person who was talking to him. He never did.