[he stills, then, but just for a second - it's barely noticeable.
it's the first peach that he's had in a long time, and the sweetness on his tongue is very, very familiar. oppressively so. the first pop of sugar lingers unpleasantly and the chunk of fruit flesh almost burns like acid where it sits in his mouth, lead-like.
while the taste of peaches usually brings soft things to mind - harvesting them with Kodo— with his father, or sharing them with the neighbor kids, or washing them in basins of cool water to enjoy later when the sun sets and the night cools off and the fireflies start to travel - things are different this time.
in his mind's eye, he sees someone reaching, reaching, trying to grasp a peach so large that it doesn't seem like those small hands would be able to carry it. a tree overhead is filled with so much fruit that he thinks it could feed them all for the entire summer season, but that would make them all sick, someone says in a voice that isn't his own. he can feel the soft fuzz of peach skin against his lips. his name is called, soft and melodic and so nostalgic that he feels acutely sick to his stomach. sun warms his back. a strange smell is in the air - someone else is calling him. sunlight shines too brightly. he can't recapture the warmth from before. the peach in his mouth tastes bitter.
setting his empty hand against the table, he chokes on the juice that had settled under his tongue from that first bite, still unswallowed.]
no subject
it's the first peach that he's had in a long time, and the sweetness on his tongue is very, very familiar. oppressively so. the first pop of sugar lingers unpleasantly and the chunk of fruit flesh almost burns like acid where it sits in his mouth, lead-like.
while the taste of peaches usually brings soft things to mind - harvesting them with Kodo— with his father, or sharing them with the neighbor kids, or washing them in basins of cool water to enjoy later when the sun sets and the night cools off and the fireflies start to travel - things are different this time.
in his mind's eye, he sees someone reaching, reaching, trying to grasp a peach so large that it doesn't seem like those small hands would be able to carry it. a tree overhead is filled with so much fruit that he thinks it could feed them all for the entire summer season, but that would make them all sick, someone says in a voice that isn't his own. he can feel the soft fuzz of peach skin against his lips. his name is called, soft and melodic and so nostalgic that he feels acutely sick to his stomach. sun warms his back. a strange smell is in the air - someone else is calling him. sunlight shines too brightly. he can't recapture the warmth from before. the peach in his mouth tastes bitter.
setting his empty hand against the table, he chokes on the juice that had settled under his tongue from that first bite, still unswallowed.]