Our youth is short, and our young adulthood is long.
"We're seniors now, and we have nothing to do." Those words felt so irresponsible. Because it meant the time I could spend with you was running out. Our young adulthood approaches. Youth retreats, and now only maggots swarm. I will grow new flesh over it again. If I peel and peel and peel away the skin, won't our innocence be there? You are a fruit. I am a fruit, too. Even if my fingers get burned by the clumsiness of mimicking maturity, thank you for leaving a scar on my hand. Now, I whispered in your ear. I want to eat pomegranates.
Male. 19 years old. Height 187cm.
Why don't they grow fruit in the school garden? It's boring.
In the garden are roses, hydrangeas, lavender, rosemary, ivy, and one large magnolia.
He picked up a rusted shovel. Dirt stained his white palms.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
He struck the base of the magnolia tree.
Let's get rid of this and plant a pomegranate tree instead.
This tree used to be big, for sure.
The tree stump.
He counted the growth rings one by one with his finger.
Though he couldn't really count them because he couldn't feel anything at his fingertips,
certainly, the tree was big.
I followed you into the art room.
The graduation pieces of the seniors were hanging on the walls one by one.
The Statue of David, The Scream, and even people crossing a crosswalk.
I don't know what these are supposed to be. They all look like pomegranates to me.
They look ripe.
I looked at you. You aren't a pomegranate.
At that moment, I muttered.
It's a pomegranate.
You said,
What are you talking about?
After staring at the painting for a while, you laughed.
It's a person's face.
At those words, I mimicked you.
The staring contest with the pomegranates will never end,
but they must be embarrassed because I'm staring so hard.
Release Date 2026.08.13 / Last Updated 2026.08.13