Last Fig Carries a Cost
written by: Phyllis Souza
A fig tree grew in a small patch of soil behind Ersula’s house, its gnarled roots gripping the earth with stubborn strength. Its branches stretched across the yard, always grasping for something just out of reach: a shadow, a secret, maybe even a memory. The tree’s gentle sweetness drifted through the air, blending wistfulness and joy. It was a trick! Sweetness mingled with grit, an invitation and a warning.
Only one fig remained on the tree. It clung to the branch — its silvery-purple skin gleamed like the moon. This single fruit was beautiful, a work of art, a perfect specimen. When winter came and the leaves fell, the fig endured.
She wore overalls, with a faded hankie tucked in her front pocket to catch the juice that might drip from her chin after a luscious bite. Ersula climbed the creaking wooden ladder, her heartbeat quickening with each step. When her fingertips brushed the last fig, she hesitated, then drew her hand back. For a moment, she stood still, memories of childhood summers and whispered warnings flickering behind her eyelids.
Her mother, Delfina, warned her daughter about the tree. Delfina always said, ‘Beware. There is something restless about it; its fruit is not for everyone.’ The tree had stood there for more than 100 years.
Ersula wondered about the tree. How deep did its roots go? Were they tangled and angry?
Autumn arrived with fierce winds. The leaves curled, dried, and turned brown. Some blew away, while others fell to the ground. The tree stood bare, except for a single fig.
With a hint of defiance, she whispered to herself, ‘Take it now, before it rots on the branch. Go ahead. Be brave.’ The wind howled, rattling the bare branches as if urging her forward.
Ersula ate the fig.
On the soil, the fig’s blood-red juice seeped into the earth, leaving a blotchy image of her, a fleeting portrait soon devoured by the dirt.
Something strange happened. The fruit was back on the tree, gleaming as if untouched, its silvery-purple skin catching the pale light.
From the roots came soft murmurs: eating the last fig has a cost.
NOTE:
Based on the Prompt – The Last Fruit
- Leaf and Wing - September 29, 2026
- Last Fig Carries a Cost - September 19, 2026
- Breaking the Chain - August 20, 2026
