The mud-covered hands on that little body trying to reach the iridescent blackberries. And the clumsy tries which directly grabbed the sharp thorns, caused burning pain and red fluid dripping out of slim fingertips. "But I want them soooo bad", the little figure whine while stretching it´s legs until they started hurting. Salty tears poured down it´s cheeks, down it´s chin - and then - onto the red fluid on it´s fingertips. Sitting in the dark, licking it´s fingertips, the figure tried to reach them again, mixing red fluid, sticky spit, the juice of squeezed blackberries and the strongest ambition known to humanity.
If reaching blackberries was worth so much pain, then why is nothing anymore?
I grew up in a little valley and every summer I used to collect all the blackberries. Even though my fingertips always ended up pink-reddish because of the thorns and my clumsy tries, it was so much fun. Now, that I´ve been diagnosed with (social) anxiety, depression and bulimia, I really want to turn back time.