Cheerful, Once Unfortunate, Cherry

Story by Natalie Chen

| SHORT WRITING CONTEST

I have been alive for only fourteen days. I will live only up to thirty days old if all goes well. I live in the lush, U-Pick orchards of Washington, and I hang right in the middle of the trees, surrounded by thousands, if not millions, of kin.  

I am a Sweetheart Cherry. A regular, ordinary Sweetheart Cherry.

My misfortune, though, is that I hang right next to the trunk and I’m high up, making it extremely hard for me to ever get plucked. And if I ever do, I shall be the most joyous cherry in the world.

Starting from a bud, I eventually bloomed into a beautiful flower. Slowly my flower withered and I developed into fruit. Although I am close to the trunk, I still get all the resources I need to become a delectable cherry. The problematic part will be getting picked. 

For the next week, I gaze down at my family getting picked. Children with all sorts of personalities come — some pick a hundred, some are afraid of us. Meanwhile, parents jump to reach the ripest of cherries high up in the tree. At least those cherries can be seen. 

Every time someone gets picked, they say goodbye. I constantly get a pang of jealousy. My plain old unluckiness has ruined my future. But then I see some of my cousins who are lying down, pressed against the soil. Thrown there because they were either crippled, got hurt, or were in a perfect position to be picked, but weren’t ripe yet, which is the opposite of me.

And I realize that no matter what, no matter how unlucky, how different, or how cruel we are, to be given the chance to live, to be chosen by Him, is the best blessing we can ever be rewarded with. 

By now, I am twenty-one days old. I am super ripe, beautifully red. The perfect condition to be picked.

Today, however, is an extremely rainy day. All the people without sizable umbrellas huddled under the cherry trees. A particularly tall teenager stood under our tree. At least six foot five. Her head slightly to my left, she had a bag full of cherry-red cherries. She was drenched. 

“Grace Adams, just where are you?” 

“I’m here, Mom! Just two trees from you!” she called. 

“Come over here!” the other voice said. 

“No, I’m going to get even wetter!” she protested. 

She stood there, looking around. I watched her too; I’m sure lots of us were. A bright teen with hazel brown hair, and a pleasant smile. All of a sudden, she turned around and caught my gaze. 

“Ooh, there’s a nice ripe cherry here!” she exclaimed. And what happened next I thought would never, ever happen to me. 

She plucked me right off. Smoothly and effortlessly. I dropped into the bag. Deep breath.

“I got picked!” I excitedly thought. “And now, I am the most joyful cherry in the world!”