Another slightly rushed and cobbled together post, but I really hope you enjoy this one. It wasn’t what I expected to write when I sat at m computer this morning, but when I saw Madison’s photo it was exactly what came to mind. Do check out the links on her page for more stories, and do let me have any feedback (positive or negative) on today’s story below.
To see Madison’s site with the prompt and other stories, click here
The Bitter Sweetness of Grapes
The first time, he was six years old, lying under the vines with purple stains and an ugly smile mingling on his lips – delirious with the heady pleasure of excess, unable to form coherent sentences and desperately, repeatedly, declaring his love. At six, you can pick them up and put them to bed to sleep it off. Next morning he awoke with a pounding head and a guilty promise never to do it again.
At forty-six, there’s a lot less you can do. The demon grape still puppets him, its effects all-too similar and its grip stronger than ever.