• Apples

    As I strode down the poverty stricken streets, a young girl in a thin jacket darted across the snowy path.
    She was probably only twelve; with a thin, bony face that had large, blue eyes; I quickly noted that the "perfect" children (the ones used on propaganda reels) had a twinkle of enthusiasm in their eyes, this girl had probably lost that a long time ago. As she saw me, she stopped, her lank, matted, greasy hair lifted slightly by a sudden breeze.
    My eyes then fell upon her jacket. It wasn't really a jacket, more a thin blanket draped over her anorexic-like shoulders in a futile effort to keep out the cold.
    I quickly thrust my hand into my fur-lined pocket (being an agent in the KGB, exclusive stores were at my finger tips) and drew out an apple, as I did so, I approached the girl. She regarded me warily, everyone did, they all lived in fear of being arrested and sent to the Gulags, I handed her the apple.She hesitated then cautiously took the apple, examining it thoroughly. I backed away quickly and carefully. As I walked on my way I heard a satisfyingly resounding crunch, and that took a minuscule amount of guilt out of what I do.