Matilda Lambert

Her Nuclear Family

The trees were ripe with fruit. Green turned to red, deep and dark like blood. Each one nestled in leaves, wrapped around it protectively as though the branches knew that you might steal one, and were prepared to scratch. Luca gazed up, eyes squinting at the light that fell dappled between the shapes. She could practically taste them; she had done that once, against the better judgment of the elders. At first the fruit had been sweet, then a striking bitter that had lingered on her tongue for days.