Short Fiction
At the Core
Fat, red, the grocer’s sticker still adhered to its egg-smooth skin; it rested on top of some other fruits in a tattered basket whose stained wicker unwound itself and broke with a snapping sound when touched. There was always a bright, delicious apple in among the Bartlett pears, the purple plums, the fur-covered peaches.
Erzebet YellowBoy
December 7, 2010