The place was gorgeous. With green foliage and blooms that shouldn’t have been in season, I felt good. Like I was at home, where I was supposed to be. The man, though … the man that stood in the middle of the garden, with his robe fluttering in calm winds, looking us up and down, made us all feel like we wanted to leave. He told us we had to work to stay here, and if we didn’t we would be punished. After a life time of toiling, the ascent wasn’t what we thought it would be.

“Look, I didn’t ask to be picked. None of us did,” I said, gathering an apple from the ground.

“Then go elsewhere,” he said, waved a hand, and I plummeted swiftly to Hell.