A STRAWBERRY DEATH.

 

Ginni’s mouth watered. Ridiculously. So badly that she slurped the spit back every couple of seconds. She was on a trip—in a field—or NEAR a field of giant bulging juicy shortcake strawberries—and all of her friends were gushing them back—smashing them onto their tongues—staining their fingers with pinky juice heaven.
“GINNI! COME ON!” 

“NO! I CAN’T!” And she couldn’t. She was deathly deathly allergic to these supple red gems. One touch, one smear, one nibble...and she’d die. She’d never even seen so many strawberries in her entire strawberry blonde life.  

She stood on the sidelines of Strawberry Hill, and strawberry life, watching their happiness ravage inside. The others laughed and jumped and danced, skipping from berry to berry, singing a loud, “THESE ARE THE BEST THINGS I’VE EVER TRIED!”   

For hours it went on. And then it started all over again. And the more it went on, the more alone and flavorless Ginni felt inside. There’s a moment some get to where they stand on the line of what’s worth it and...before she gave it another blink, she leapt into the center of the juiciest patch.


a strawberry death perfectly captured by Kelly Tunstall ... i love it! thx!