When my big brother was young, my grandfather asked him if he liked to work. Fortunately, he did. So, grandfather took a bucket in one hand, and my brother's arm in the other, and went out to the garden to pick tomatoes. My brother was happy enough, and my grandfather(more) was pleased.
Later, someone asked my brother why grandfather was so happy that they picked tomatoes together. He said that if he worked, he was a good boy, and that was good.
Everyone smiled and nodded at him. That was right; he was a good boy. "And if I'm a good boy," he said, "it's because daddy is a good dad."
The smiles widened. That made sense; he was a smart boy as well as a good one. "And if you're a good dad," he said, "that meant that grandpa was a good dad."
The smiles shrank a little as tears sprang up and kisses found their way to my brother's forehead. He was a very good boy indeed.(less)
"Look! Look!" little Abby said as she ran back to the porch, " Aren't these the biggest berries that you've ever seen?" Her pitter patter of footsteps creaked the old wood as she brought them closer. She held one in each hand, holding them up high just for me(more) to see. A little too close for comfort as all I can see was the ripe red that blocked my sight of everything else.
"Back up," I said, " before you get the juices in my eyes!" I swatted her arms away and picked her up by the waist. She let out a fit of giggles and kicked around as I held her high, her voice high in protest echoing above as I laughed below.
she bit into it
like an apple
(more) and the juice
ran down her chin
and curved over her bosom
clear eyes scanned
the mark of her teeth
she shut her hand
and squeezed it
until it bled
like a heart(less)
I remember tomatoes being Melinda's favorite thing to eat. Before she fell in love, before she got sick, and before the chemo made her the most strikingly beautiful bald woman to grace the small streets of Winters on a bicycle with a woven basket full of early-girl tomatoes.
He(more)r life was story-book. Ski team in college, honors-graduate, crossbeam-family that did things right. A good man found her in college. Jake made no mistakes and kept her with his loyalty, love, and laughter. His drinking habits had nothing in common with mine at that age. Whether or not he loved her cat would be an unsolvable mystery. His bachelor party included his soon to be father in-law. There wasn't a hidden bone behind him or bad thing in him.
Their engagement and wedding were formalities for souls that were intended to dance together for as long as the music played. It was at the airport when Melinda got sick, headache and vomiting that halted their honeymoon St. John. "She's only 25, it can't be serious, can it?" Stage 4-metastatic breast cancer that had spread to every corner of her toned and tanned body.
She lasted three months. The oncologists and susan j komen walks weren't able to do shit. Jake crumbled only in her absence. He had to live after half of him died, incomplete cursed with the knowledge the worst things happen to the best people.
I saw her in-town riding her bike weaving though foot traffic before pulling up to me. "I don't know if it's the chemo or the cancer but everything is sharper and clearer. The color of the sky has never been more beautiful and the birds chips sweeter,"she smiled. Two days later seizure-coma-death. Tears, memorials, funeral, and a young-man left to mourn the ashes-of-his love.
She's at the supermarket like any other day. The fluorescent light makes her skin look cold and pale even if, in reality, she has a soft and tanned skin.
She enters the fruits and vegetables aisle. She starts looking for carrots, cucumbers, peppers, etc.
At the same(more) time, she doesn't see the tall and muscular man entering the supermarket. His bald hair and his beard gives him an aggressive look. Or is it the deep scar crossing his face? His leather jacket looks brand new, contrasting with his old used jeans. He puts his hands in his pockets and walks nervously.
The lady picks up a tomato, and take it at her eye level. She looks at it attentively. Suddenly, the tomato explode in a small red and juicy blast. She sees a grey thing in the middle of the tomato. Then, nothing.
The tall man puts his gun back into his pocket, and runs outside.(less)
Maybe they aren't sweet enough for some people. Maybe they have too much of that bursting, tart kick. Maybe some stigma from the 1700s is still left over - you know, that tomatoes came from the same genetic line as nightshade, and had gotta be poisonous too. But I(more) don't care. Whatever peer pressure's influence on me, there is absolutely none of that when it comes to loving tomatoes.(less)
I want to see the girl who took my breath away just by smiling at me. What I'd give to have her round, inquisitive eyes staring at me, her red-as-tomato cheeks blushing at my presence, her crooked smile that she only kept for me. I want to go to(more) her with every fibre of my being, but alas, our distance was too great.
The matter of the Storm also arises as well.
No one should brave out the Storm. It destroyed literally everything in its path. Some people say it's the Devil's Black Hole; I knew from experience that it was true. A black swirling tornado seemingly out of nowhere, from an unknown tear in the sky, and it completely annihilates everything from its path. After a few kilometers it would stop and disappear into the sky as quickly as it came.
I had seen it with my own eyes as it consumed my home.
But the girl with the crooked smile had saved me from the brink of death as she pulled me out of the rubble that had pinned me. Right after her rescue, I had gone on rescue missions to save people in danger from the aftermath of the Storm. And I had hoped I would run into the mysterious girl.
Tomato rot in the fridge.
Gleam, it does, when you look the other way. Odd, why does it not want to be eaten.
Is it alive?
Of course not. It's a tomato. An organic tomato, with dwarf sized seeds and ridges and canals and pools of liquid, juices o(more)f spurting life.
Raking mud and dirt, some other's hands, and ripped it from vine, the earth feels as you do. Does a tomato have a living heart. It can't.
Inverse being, it grows and dies, like you do but it cannot think and feel and touch, but can it be felt?
In touching, does it not touch back, ripe itself alongside you?
It's just a bloody tomato.
Tomato's are meant to be eaten.
That is all.
Besides, they're only half-tasty and you desire something sweet and cocoa and dead. So you'll avoid the tomato fetus bulb for now and go elsewhere, eat another.
Lazy tomato, go on back inside. (less)
I can still remember the weathered furniture we sat in, three worn wooden chairs around a wobbly plastic table.
Tomato parties were always Nadia's favorite. My tio knew a secret to picking the ripest ones. I don't remember it exactly, but there was something in the weight o(more)f it.
We bit into them like apples, juice dripping off our tiny chins. On those days, questions didn't exist. There was only the stretch of lawn between our house and garage, fresh tomatoes and the sounds of summer in Logan Square.
Until one day Nadia's face was more than just tomato red. She had developed a tomato allergy and we needed a change in tradition.
We tried to have mango parties, but it just wasn't the same. We couldn't peel them on our own and the hair stuck in our teeth. And suddenly I was aware that my tio was a misogynist and the sound of summer meant gunshots and crackheads.
We stopped throwing any parties at all, and got rid of that old furniture. Nadia got over her allergy, too, but now she slices her tomatoes before eating them. (less)
How could such a silly little thing create this amount of blow out? Morning had stared normally- he had waken up, snuggled closed to Dave's sleeping form, spent a moment wondering if his breath was so bad that he could reconsider kissing him silly and decided to make up(more) for the yesterday by getting his ass up, and making breakfast.
None of them really was a morning person, but he had felt guilty enough to tip toe out of they bedroom (they, it still sounded foreign on his tongue) and went to see what he had in the pantry to work with.
That's where Dave had found him 40 min later, singing aloud to some terrible rock song and pouring coffee in a mug.
They had kissed, that part went as planned, he wasn't that sure about who were left more silly, but since he spent five minutes pressed against Dave's sleep warmed body pressed tight against his, - he wasn't going to complain. He didn't think too do that either coffee cup somehow disappeared from his hand or when his t-shirt somehow landed on the floor. Yet when these damned ( fucking awesome) hands found bruise marks they had left yesterday he had flinched and moved back a step. Hadn't meant it.
He knew that he had fucked up when Dave moved away too, his face pinched in frustration. He had tried to apologize, to explain, but brain couldn't come up with the words anyway, he did try to stammer out that it was his fault, but it was to late.
Dave had left, just walked out. And here he was, sitting by the kitchen counter and starring at damned tomato sandwiches. He was still starring when broken laugh found it's way out, making his bruised belly arch.(less)
House of Cards was famous now, after the release of their hit single Glass Slipper and the follow-up album End Times. But the band wasn't always that way. They had first performed Glass Slipper three years ago out of their garage. High-school kids, mostly high or drunk, came to(more) watch.
At the end of their short concert, the band members were splattered with rotten tomatoes and beer that people had thrown.
It made the band laugh now, to think of them. Stupid kids, chucking rotten fruit at House of Cards.
They wouldn't dare now.(less)
Tomatoes are such a queer little berry. It self identifies as a vegetable, which I find most admirable. It doesn't care what the other vegetables say, and it doesn't bother with the fruits. It just decided one day that it was going to be something more.
(more) I wonder what it's life was like? Did it's family love it? Were they accepting? Did it say to them one day, "Guys, I... I'm a vegetable, please don't hate me." waiting for the bellows and blows from other fruits? The boos from below the stage? Or perhaps did Tomato just run away to it's vegetable friends? "Hey! Wait up! I'm coming with you! Please don't leave without me." And all the vegetables hugged it and told it "Welcome to the family."
But then there are always fruits and vegetables that hate Tomato. They think Tomato couldn't decide, or it decided wrong. Maybe Tomato experiences hate crimes and get's shoved and tossed and forgotten. Maybe Tomato is just looking for a safe place among both the fruits and the vegetables.
It could also be that Tomato was kidnapped from it's family when it was very young. The vegetables were more than a match for this poor fruit. The vegetables brought it up as one of it's own, even though any test can prove it belongs to fruits. Tomato think's it's a vegetable now, too. It was brainwashed and beaten and trained by the other vegetables to be one of them. And the poor fruits that miss their beloved Tomato mourn it's loss every day. They wait for Tomato to come home and are shocked when Tomato sneers and jeers at them with the other Vegetables.
Tomatoes fall apart when heated gently with a little water. She liked to simmer them down to an acid mush then introduce prawns, chorizo and sliced peppers. This, together with bread and salad, made for a nice, simple meal that was both tasty and nutritious.
"Is that really a bomb?" Saraswathi asked Henry Whitehall. "It looks like a tomato."
"Well, that's kind of the point," he said. "It looks innocent, but it's not. Someone is just coming to grab what looks like a delicious fruit, and it explodes in their face."
"But who would(more) eat a tomato off the street?" Sara asked, puzzled.
"Have you seen the streets on this planet?" Daisuke reminded her. "They sparkle. Literally sparkle. When they say so clean you could eat off it, they're not kidding. People actually do that, all the time."
Saraswathi shrugged. Dai was right; she was thinking about Earth cities, littered with rats and cigarette stubs and dirt. She forgot about the sparkling floating metropolises of Jupiter. It still left another question, though.
"Why do you need to bomb them under false pretenses, though?" she asked. "It's like you enjoy it. Like you enjoy torturing them, enjoy their misery. Why not just send a straight bomb in there - it would do the same job?"
"Sara," Henry began, "they got us here under false pretenses. They messed with our DNA, telling us we were becoming like Sailor Moon when they were turning us into lab rats to fight their own private little war, and ensuring we'd never have a place in normal Earthling society again. You can reduce cities to ashes with a flick of your wrist, I can make any bomb I want out of nowhere, Dai can torture people with sound. What do you think Earth scientists would do with us if we went back? Earth armies?"
"So if we need a little deception to teach them a lesson," Dai finished, "a little deception we'll take."
Sara nodded. She still felt a bit sick about this, but the boys had a point.(less)