Most of the tomatoes had withered and shrunk in autumn’s shortened days, but some still plumped enough to make exploding juicy bombs when they hit a target. The afternoon they decided to ratchet up the thrill by embedding small rocks in the fruits, he heard a voice in his conscience warn against the weapon. But the boys on his team all thought the idea smashing…so to speak.
As the missiles hit, their targets’ faces registered shock. Then his cousin howled, the eye already bloodied. The incoming tomato, red as his mother’s polished nails, was the last sight for that eye.