There once was a grape. He did not like being apart of a bunch. All he wanted to do was roll his plump self away. Roll out of this bowl and out onto the road. Onto the world for an adventure.

He tried many times to escape on his own, rolling away while the bowl was tipped so that everyone would think that gravity took him. That way they would never know that he left on his own accord. Sly, very sly, Grape.

You see, grapes are formed in clusters, in bunches, so being alone would be unnatural. Beyond that, it would be awkward and lonely and tiresome. Who would he talk to? Who would he look forward to seeing every day? Who could he roll his plump self away with? Who would remind him to stay out of the sun?

He was a strong grape. His skins were thick and bitter. He was slightly dusty but what can you do about a little dust? He was young and had no seeds inside him. Inside his skins was nothing but ambition and clear, fleshy juice.

He was ready to roll away for good and so on Blame Gravity Attempt #487, Grape rolled into Pistachio.

Pistachio was rigid and salty to the touch. She seemed bright green and spritely – she must have just been shelled.  She was not at all dusty and she was not at all plump. She was nothing like Grape.

She was the true victim of gravity, having been shucked and fallen from the bag, missing a mouth, and landing on the ground.

Grape rolled right into her. She didn’t mind though: having just been shelled, she felt like a new nut. She felt free and alive and happy but it meant nothing if she was alone. She had never seen a grape before. She thought he was funny and squishy and although they came from two very different places, they couldn’t have been more perfect together.

Grape was whimsical and adventurous while Pistachio was there to talk to him, she looked forward to seeing him every day, she was there for him to roll his plump self away with, and she reminded him every damn day to stay out of the sun. She was the string which anchored his balloon-mind.

Until their withered days of blissful friendship, Grape and Pistachio went on many adventures. Too many to count but a few certainly spring to mind.

Over the years, Grape began to dry out, his skin began to thin, a seed began to grow inside of him, and his ambitious insides were replaced with contentment. He had traveled the globe with a true friend by his side.

Pistachio remained ever the same: just as rigid and salty as the day they met however her bright green exterior yielded a papery brown hue. A content little nut, she was, she took each day as it was. As the days went by, she never once questioned her friendship with Grape. If anything, it only grew stronger.

In their old age they reminisced of the good times gone, of their adventures. Each and every day they took a solemn vow of friendship: they wouldn’t live in the memory of their old adventures, they would have to continue to make new ones.

So each and every day, hand in hand, Grape and Pistachio would roll down the road not looking for new adventures to be made but stumbling upon them as they came.

In their adventures, they were forever squishy, spritely, and young.