Chasing the Sun

I know what you're thinking. The sun's not a fruit. It's just a big ball of fire in the sky. But that's where you're wrong. The sun is a fruit. A giant golden one, so big it makes your eyes ache when you look at it, hanging up there just waiting for someone to pick it. I've been thinking about it for weeks now, staring up at it from the grass while the others are busy with their boring little games. How could they not see it? It's right there, so close and so far all at once, just waiting.

I've got my broom—my old, battered one—and I'm ready. If it's a fruit, I'm going to pick it. No one else has thought of this, so it's all mine to do. No one else can reach it, but I know I can. I'm fast. I'm clever. I just have to believe it. I'll be the one to take the sun, to hold it in my hands, warm and shining.

I kick off the ground. At first, I wobble a bit, but then I steady myself. Higher. Higher.

The wind is biting at my face, but I don't care. The sun is getting closer. I can feel it now, the way it pulls at me, calling me up. My fingers tingle, like they can already feel its warmth. A shiver runs through me, not from the cold, but from the excitement. I push harder, my broom zipping higher, cutting through the air like nothing can touch me.

I'm going to get it. I will.

It's so close now I can see the shimmer of it. The light makes everything around me look like a dream. It's as if the sun's opening up to me, the glow so bright, like it wants to be plucked, wants me to take it. My hands stretch out, and for just a second, I think it's going to happen. I think I'm going to grab it.

But then my broom wobbles.

It's tiny. A tiny thing, just a little shake, but it makes me freeze. One second. One breath.

Then it's too late.

I'm falling. I don't scream. I don't think. I just fall, my hands still reaching for that fruit that's too far, too high. The wind howls in my ears, pulling my hair. I see the ground coming closer. It's funny, the way the ground looks so soft, almost inviting, like I could just fall into it and keep going.

I close my eyes.

And then—

I don't know what happens after that.

Some people say I hit the ground and got up, but I don't remember it. Some people say I didn't hit the ground at all. That I just kept falling. Or maybe I just kept flying. Maybe I'm still up there, chasing that fruit in the sky, and maybe I'll never stop.

But I do know one thing: next time, I'll reach it. I'll do it again, because there's nothing too high, nothing too far. Not when I can keep going, no matter how far I fall.