Stolen Fruit
The fruit stolen from the future will starve you to death. It doesn’t taste sweeter. It doesn’t fill you. You eat and eat, but the desire grows. The more you steal, the greater the hunger gets, and you become obese and impotent — too swollen to ever earn your fill. But you steal and steal, in hopes of satisfying a desire that falls on you like the sky.
Our core knows the simple truth: it is the earned fruit that satiates us. But we don’t earn. We take. And worse — we take from ourselves. It is betrayal of the self by the self. And a person who has betrayed himself cannot trust himself, and a person who cannot trust himself becomes resentful of everything.
The world is suddenly against him. Scheming. Everyone wants him to fail. But it is his own broken mirrors that distort the world around him. The glass cracked from the inside.
He must suffer now, but not the kind of suffering that teaches. He suffers ignorantly, because that is his nature now. He has gutted himself and lives like a scurrying mouse — great emptiness inside him, and he knows no way to fill it but by stealing more. So he steals, depriving himself further of any redemption that might be left.
What must a man like this do? With great unending hunger, he eats himself alive. Never fulfilling the desire. Forgetting how it ever tasted. Living as an empty husk, with bland and dulled senses.
Forgetting that he was ever full.