Will Connolly was sitting under a tall tree. The ancient people called it ‘the lightning tree’ as its fruits were yellow like the lightning and they gave the one that would eat them the power to control thunderstorms. He knew that from his grandma, the one who had taken care of him since his parents died in a car accident when Will was very young, but he thought it was just a fairy tale.

Will’s hair was as red as the fire and his eyes as blue as the sea. He was not very tall and his classmates nicknamed him ‘Stick Willy’ because he was unusually slim. But Will never cared about that. He only cared about his beloved tree, the lightning tree.

At that moment, sitting there on the tiny hill, with the fresh smell of fresh grass everywhere around him and the dark blue sky above his head, Will was wondering what the fruits taste like. He looked at the tree and said to himself: ‘I bet I can climb up there.’