When I closed my eyes, the scent of the wind wafted up towards me. A May wind, swelling up like a piece of fruit, with a rough outer skin, slimy flesh, dozens of seeds. The flesh split open in mid-air, spraying seeds like gentle buckshot into the bare skin of my arms, leaving behind a faint trace of pain.
'What time is it?' my cousin asked me. About eight inches shorter than me, he had to look up when he talked.
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