Nectar

The chilly April wind nuzzled itself forcefully against the soft fuzz that covered the little peach. His innocent mind was already tarnished by the dreadful fate of his fellow fruits; the graphic images of the robins that ferociously pecked away, sending most of them tumbling downward into the snarled mass of exposed roots below, and even those nasty, vampiric hummingbirds that carelessly drained the nectar that flowed through their fuzzy, vulnerable bodies. It became so uncomfortable on that branch that he took one last deep breath, flung himself free from his home, and soared down into the basket of a little girl who had been eyeing the very same peach all this time. Freedom was as sweet as he was.