It was like there were two of me. Two little mes, sitting in a tree, throwing star fruits at each other. At first the fruits were big and ripe and luscious and they burst covering us with little bits of juicy flesh and minor galaxies and the leaves all quivered in the breeze. But the big fruits were the ones close at hand and then they were gone, and we were too lazy to move and so we reached for smaller fruit. And these ones mushed a little and split, drops of sweet juice and rosy planets dripping out of them and glazing the tree's bark with moonshine but the juice on our skin grew cold and dried and then we were sticky, and it began to be irritating. And then what was left were the small fruits, the closed ones, hard and wrinkled and we threw them harder and harder until we knocked each other out of the tree.

today i read indexed

hi sierra