Eat the Peach

Flash fiction

Photo by Charles Deluvio on Unsplash

On a warm August afternoon, the fat fleshy peach on my kitchen counter sat up and spoke to me. “When are you gonna eat me?” she asked.

I paused and examined the fuzzy, round thing. “I was planning on eating you yesterday,” I said. “But I forgot.”

“How could you forget? I’m so ripe,” the peach said. “I was perfect, and I waited for you.”