Pomegranate

The boy stared at the fruit in wonder, the red skin nearly glowed in the darkness. It was finally ripe. He reached out, but jerked his hand back, unable to pluck such a beautiful fruit.

A pomegranate, the last one of its kind.

He reached out again and finally plucked the fruit, turning it over his hands.

The ruby red fruit was the last on the tree, the ancient plant nearly done for, living its life of almost a thousand years.

The boy peeled the fruit, careful not to drop a single seed. He placed a handful of seeds in his mouth, savoring the sour and sweet taste of the fruit, and collapsed abruptly, dead.

The pomegranate rolled out of his hand, landing on the floor, it turns black, bursting into ashes.