The bloodied field of the one sided battle

Anaya Chambliss '28

Fresh

The air was fresh

The wind flowed freely

Free of the shackles that come with flesh

He longed to take the wind, to tug, and shove, and squeeze, and grab at it

But he could not for the wind was untouchable

Yet…it could touch him 

He loathed the wind, he decided, and its ability

But, no matter

He mustn’t be distracted

Mother would be furious if he did not finish harvesting the strawberries

fifty strawberries, fifty one strawberries, fifty two-

Squelchhh

He grimaced as he lifted his shoe and gazed at the ground beneath it

He bent down to pick up the mashed strawberry 

Its juice ran from his fingers

its broken, utterly destroyed form in his hand

He destroyed it 

He squeezed it in his hand 

Squelch

Quieter, that time

He smiled, then he giggled, then he was cackling all the while rapid tears streamed down his face

He picked all his strawberries out of his basket and he crushed each one in his hand ‘til it was silent

Then he beat his fist into them, pounding them into the ground

When mother came out, she smacked him on his face and gave him a long-winded scolding

Her face got all red like strawberry, he knew his had done the same when he laughed

He wasn’t a strawberry, though, and she wasn’t one yet

He was sure she would be, one day

His strawberry