cherry.distortion.

the taste was sweet, intoxicating even as it lingered on his lips. his fingers, painted a crimson violet, left incriminating prints on the refrigerator, on the counter, on the kitchen knife, on the screen door...

the call for help muffled as his tongue tied itself up in knots, just like the cherry stem.

the taste was sour, bitter as it stained his conscience. the call for the ambulance would go unheard, already useless in the situation as the fingerprints were the only evidence of his forsaken, murdered childhood on the warm summer's day.