Long ago, before he was even called Apple Boy, a young boy of ten years of age was eating an apple. His mother told him to cut it into slices and that he would get more apple that way and not be so wasteful.
“Not if I eat the whole apple!” exclaimed the boy before thrusting the core in this mouth.
“Stop! Don’t eat that! You’ll get seeds in your belly and an apple tree will grow inside you,” his mother scolded him, but the disobedient boy kept chewing and swallowed the core, seeds and all.
A few months later, the boy began to sprout tiny buds on his stomach. His mother acted like she was worried about the child, but she was secretly gloating that she was right about the seeds. By the time he was thirteen, he grew apples on his arms. Kids would pick apples off his arms in class and eat them. He would get in trouble for not bringing enough for everyone.
When Apple Boy turned eighteen, he had really sprouted up, his limbs branching out at great length. “This house is too small for me,” he told his mother, “I need to leave so that I can get more sunlight and rain to grow.”
His mother began to cry. “They grow up so fast!”