Becoming

Little Sakura, emaciated, her eyes bright but sunken, stood beneath the cherry blossom tree. It was the only tree on the long block, its fragrant pink blossoms just beginning to open in the gray bowels of the city. Sakura looked up at the tree, and seeing a low-lying branch, grabbed it with her frail hand and inhaled its scent. It was sweet and real, but marred at least a little by the tinny smell of the smog that hung like a shadow in the air and coated the blossoms. Sakura gently blew, just like her grandmother had showed her how, and the fine silver dust gathered and flew like a fairy away from the blossoms.  ...