In the Beginning by E.M. Eastick

“Here,” she says, thrusting a round fruit at me. She is naked and radiant. The fruit is bumpy and brighter than the green of the leaves or blue of the sky.

“But the Man says not to pick from that tree,” I say.

“Another man says this holds the future.”

Her allure is irresistible. The fruit bursts with a zesty scent when I dig my thumbnail into the spongy exterior.

The flesh rips with the skin. It bleeds red and hot and sticky over my hands. “What did the other man say this was?”

“Blood orange,” she says. “The future.”