Prompt
He explodes upward out of the black. Both arms drive toward the falling apple, body twisting, white linen sleeves snapping taut then bunching as his shoulders roll. The apple tumbles fast, end over end, its stem whipping. He mistimes it — the fruit glances off his fingertips and spins away; he lunges after it, throwing his weight sideways, hair swinging across his face, eyes flashing wide. He catches it hard against his palm, the impact shoving his arm back and down, linen collapsing in loose folds. He pulls it in against his chest, breathing hard, and breaks into a grin as he looks straight into the lens. The candlelight jumps with every movement, flaring across his forearms and guttering into darkness behind him.