The peach was soft and fuzzy, bruise less and juicy, waiting to be tasted.
Yet no one would touch it.
Maybe it was because it was the last peach left in the ceramic fruit bowl.
Or maybe no one craved peaches anymore.
It sat in the sun for weeks, getting softer and changing it's pale peach colour to a sandy burnt orange.
No one ate it or threw it away.
It just became part of the bowl, hidden by new, plumper fruit.
Kiwis, oranges, lemons.
Yet no one touched the peach.
Eventually it was noticed, decaying next to a pear.
It was tossed into the compost where it decayed even further, becoming a slushy brown slime.
The peach was forgotten so easily and noticed too late.
It could have been the best peach anyone had ever tasted.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
The peach was soft and fuzzy, bruise less and juicy, waiting to be tasted.
Yet no one would touch it.
Maybe it was because it was the last peach left in the ceramic fruit bowl.
Or maybe no one craved peaches anymore.
It sat in the sun for weeks, getting softer and changing it's pale peach colour to a sandy burnt orange.
No one ate it or threw it away.
It just became part of the bowl, hidden by new, plumper fruit.
Kiwis, oranges, lemons.
Yet no one touched the peach.
Eventually it was noticed, decaying next to a pear.
It was tossed into the compost where it decayed even further, becoming a slushy brown slime.
The peach was forgotten so easily and noticed too late.
It could have been the best peach anyone had ever tasted.
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