Static Bloom
Two pyramids of oranges rose on the vendor's table, built with deliberate speed yet without visible aim. A faint metallic tang coated the tongue hours later, not recalling flavor so much as a hollowness where it should be. Each fruit bore the slight give of ripeness—a subtle resistance against an unseen force urging them toward softness and collapse. Though identical in form, their individual trajectories hinted at a becoming separate from the arrangement itself, a quiet unraveling beneath its polished surface.