At the same time but in another place possessing a quite different starkness, a boy who also does not know how or why he is there stands regarding a great golden fruit that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, if he stepped that close.
He is not sure he wishes to step any closer. The air is sopping with the scent of ripe fruit, and everything is so silent; that aroma leaves no space for anything else. When the boy thinks of how soft the endless skin of that great fruit must be, it bothers him in a way he cannot explain even to himself.
Perhaps more troubling is the sense of déjà vu that lingers on the edge of his consciousness, brought neither fully in nor out of view by his continued concentration. There does not seem to be anything safe, or belonging to the world he believes he has recently stepped out of, that should be invoked by his present situation.
And yet, it seems to be his lot to decide what to do, with only that slightest weight of understanding as his influence.