Blackberry Juice | Fiction

The summer was so hot and wet that the blackberries grew in engorged clusters, twice their usual size. When I closed my fingers around them to pull them from the vine they would burst, and the juice would spurt red up my arms and burn my skin, heated by the white sun. The berry picking was good for me: physical, mechanical work that I could do for hours. My mother was glad to see me out in the sun and fresh air, not holed up in my room for another summer. She bought me shorts and t-shirts to wea