[ WP ] You have n't eaten an apple in years , the doctors are after you . They 're not sure how you 've done it , and they want you dead as your existence threatens the demand for their genetically modified apples .

The fruit bowl stood in the corner. There was a bunch of four bananas, two oranges and a apple. I was in the reeducation ward, where we learnt to eat apples again. It is a different world we live in compared to the world you, the reader, lives in. Doctors have stopped helping people, and doctor paranoia has exponentially grown, like cell mitosis. Doctors were always paranoid. Every consultation you have with a doctor probably confirms this, after all, you must have noticed they act weird. 
 
 You might notice, doctors are protective of their knowledge and power. You can never get a clear answer off one. All you want to know is what's behind your ailment, and they keep this from you, so their treatments remain magical and they remain dominant. They actually regard patients ignorant, lesser people, and think we could never understand stuff they understand. 
 
 I was in the reeducation centre, pondering if they were watching me choose fruit through closed-circuit secret cameras. You see, doctors lost ties with reality late in 2017. They took the saying, `` An apple a day, keeps the doctor away,'' and, in turn, made it literal. They wanted everyone to eat an apple a day, so people would be more healthy. You can probably see why this happened because you are no stranger to a doctor's belief of his/her own superiority. 
 *** 
 Before I got taken in to the reeducation institution, I spent several weeks on the run. They chased me with tranquilizer darts to knock me out and drag me into reeducation. It was nurses who chased me. The nurse's job was to no longer look after you, and make sure you have enough blankets to keep you warm, but to chase you down, and return you to reeducation if you did n't eat your apple. 
 
 I was into chocolate. The doctors and nurses especially hated people who did n't eat their apple and ate chocolate all the time. It was n't that I hated apples that much; it was the principle. 
 
 OK, I hate apples. When I was a kid, back before any of this happened, mum used to peel the skin off apples, and cut them into segments, but I still did n't like them. It's not an irrational fear. 
 
 Once there was a maggot in one of my apples. I'm not a fussy eater, I eat everything except apples, because of that maggot, found in a brown rotten section of the apple. I dry wretched severely when I tasted that foreign, bitter taste in my between meals snack. 
 *** 
 2 and a 1/2 months beforehand: 
 
 I had a choice: I would move from my flat, and dodge the nurses who wanted me to eat the apple a day, or I would stay, and be forced to eat the apple, by a live-in, young-babe nurse, who would give me Koala Brand eucalyptus drops if I ate the apples. 
 
 I dreaded being an out-patient, with a live-in nurse babe. I was seriously thinking of skipping state, moving to a homeless hostel. It was the stewed-apple, apple pie, apple turnovers, and the reward, Koala Brand eucalyptus drops, that made me think the nurturing, open road was the best option. 
 
 It was also the sponge baths, and the walks ( on a lead ) I'd get from the nurse. It was common these days you'd see a apple-fat client being led on a lead by a proud postured nurse, in a starched, white nurse's outfit, with a red cross embroidered on the left breast. Every nurse had a green apple pin-badge on her nurse's hat. 
 
 I dreaded this ( reeducation and a live-in nurse ), but not as bad as skipping town. I was going to choose reeducation. I sat in my flat and waited for the inevitable. I pondered to the very last minute skipping town, and embracing the nurturing road. I knew the road was n't for me. 
 
 I'd tried the road before, and I'd always been miserable, and even been caught by reeducation anyway. I chose the harder of the two options: reeducation and home-support; but it was pain I had knowledge of. I was going to be force-fed apples - old, familiar apple torture. I almost looked forward to the change. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. It was the nurses. They had dart guns ready. `` Are you going to come without a struggle, Buford?'' they asked. 
 
 `` Yes ma'am,'' I said. 
 *** 
 I was at reeducation looking at the fruit bowl with longing eyes. That orange looked good. Even a banana would be nice. However, I wanted to be released. I should have skipped state, although I'm not made for it. The reason I'm not made for it, is I'm one to not be able to handle discomfort of the itinerant kind. I can put up with live-in nurses, cooking me apple-turnover, but I ca n't put up with crappy beds, sleeping on the concrete, walking 5 kilometers a day, and moving to a new place. 
 
 I regretted I had two more months in reeducation, and, then, 4 more, with a live-in nurse, but it was better than losing my flat. I looked at the fruit bowl. I chose the apple. The doctors had won. I was going to live by their rules. 
 
 It's all because of the downward push, which seems to grip societies without any conscious decisions on the part of that society ( organically and unconsciously ), that doctors took over the world, and society became a doctor dictatorship, propaganda blasting from street speakers, and TVs, `` An apple a day, keeps the doctor away.''
