By: Lydia Crow
Something about it thrilled her. It was the defiant runt, insistent on being there, fighting for a place next to its more mature cousins, and determined to survive. Well survive it had; and, in doing so, it stood out and achieved a unique status amidst all the other common, boring red tomatoes.
She identified with it.
I’m pretty sure you can freeze tomatoes, she mused, wrapping her hands around her steaming mug of tea and gingerly testing the temperature of her drink with the tip of her tongue so as not to burn her mouth. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll freeze it, so it never has to be eaten – just so it survives all the others by a long way. But not until I’ve picked all the others. They’ve all got to know it lived longer than them – it must be the last on the vine when the rest are twisted, screaming, from the plant and tossed into the salad bowl.
She smiled to herself, a small-scale vigilante.