Three Small Peaches
Three small peaches sat on the kitchen table.
One looked around wondering if the tall ones would return soon. They had mentioned something about a party of sorts. He did not recall their exact words but knew they were enjoying themselves. They laughed many times.
He pondered over the subject for several minutes, which is quick for a peach. He did not wish to dwell on such things with no knowledge of what a "party" or a "the Joneses" was. Nor did he concern himself with finding out. His two companions were asleep and not wishing to disturb them in addition to guessing that they most likely did not know either, he moved on.
It had only been a few days since his removal from the produce department at the market down the street but since peaches have never been taught the concept of time, it didn't matter in the slightest. There aren't enough wrinkles on their pit for that sort of information. There are enough wrinkles, however, to understand the concept of distance. And so, while days passed unbeknownst to him, he was aware of the exact distance of 354.6 feet he had travelled to their front door, the 15.8 feet to the table and the 0.2 feet he had moved when the lady tall one had accidentally bumped him with her elbow.
She did it quite by accident and appologised profusely but hadn't the presence to return him to his previous position. He thought it rude and in spite of her thoughtless attitude, and apparent lack of attention to his whereabouts, formed a brown spot just below his stem. "That will show her."
His next thought was not yet fully grasped when the knob on the great brown door creaked clockwise. "They're home," he realized. He looked at the clock to see how long they had been gone but suddenly remembered that leaves are greener during the summer. Peaches, so as not to feel lesser for lack of time awareness, distract themselves with all sorts of thoughts. This time it was leaves. The next time it could be a bowl of pine cones.
He may have continued on with the leaves but their footsteps began to move up the stairs. There were five steps (it wasn't a full staircase), each with its own unique creak which he had learned quickly. At any given moment, he would know exactly where on the stairs they were and whether or not they had remembered to remove their shoes.
The creaks sounded heavier this time. They were ascending with more weight than usual. He thought perhaps it was an extra layer of clothing or another peach or two from the market. "More friends," he thought. Any remote possibility of gaining more friends excites peaches so.
But as she sat the additional weight down on the table, the peach wish he had been asleep with the others. He wished he hadn't been conscious to see the horrible array that had been placed in his direct line of sight. He nearly began oozing juice from anywhere he possibly could. The horror of such a crime. As he struggled to understand exactly what would bring a tall one to commit such acts, he noticed a few words printed atop its structure.
"it Pla" it said.
Struggling to read further, he lost track of the tall ones' activities in the kitchen. He knew they were talking though not about what. "It just seems to be missing something," one said to the other. "Missing what?" he thought.
He turned to see their faces and perhaps gain a bit more understanding of their conversation. It was too late to notice the knife but he had just enough time to finish reading the words on the plastic cover that had been placed beside him. It was then he realized his fate.
"Fruit Platter"
One looked around wondering if the tall ones would return soon. They had mentioned something about a party of sorts. He did not recall their exact words but knew they were enjoying themselves. They laughed many times.
He pondered over the subject for several minutes, which is quick for a peach. He did not wish to dwell on such things with no knowledge of what a "party" or a "the Joneses" was. Nor did he concern himself with finding out. His two companions were asleep and not wishing to disturb them in addition to guessing that they most likely did not know either, he moved on.
It had only been a few days since his removal from the produce department at the market down the street but since peaches have never been taught the concept of time, it didn't matter in the slightest. There aren't enough wrinkles on their pit for that sort of information. There are enough wrinkles, however, to understand the concept of distance. And so, while days passed unbeknownst to him, he was aware of the exact distance of 354.6 feet he had travelled to their front door, the 15.8 feet to the table and the 0.2 feet he had moved when the lady tall one had accidentally bumped him with her elbow.
She did it quite by accident and appologised profusely but hadn't the presence to return him to his previous position. He thought it rude and in spite of her thoughtless attitude, and apparent lack of attention to his whereabouts, formed a brown spot just below his stem. "That will show her."
His next thought was not yet fully grasped when the knob on the great brown door creaked clockwise. "They're home," he realized. He looked at the clock to see how long they had been gone but suddenly remembered that leaves are greener during the summer. Peaches, so as not to feel lesser for lack of time awareness, distract themselves with all sorts of thoughts. This time it was leaves. The next time it could be a bowl of pine cones.
He may have continued on with the leaves but their footsteps began to move up the stairs. There were five steps (it wasn't a full staircase), each with its own unique creak which he had learned quickly. At any given moment, he would know exactly where on the stairs they were and whether or not they had remembered to remove their shoes.
The creaks sounded heavier this time. They were ascending with more weight than usual. He thought perhaps it was an extra layer of clothing or another peach or two from the market. "More friends," he thought. Any remote possibility of gaining more friends excites peaches so.
But as she sat the additional weight down on the table, the peach wish he had been asleep with the others. He wished he hadn't been conscious to see the horrible array that had been placed in his direct line of sight. He nearly began oozing juice from anywhere he possibly could. The horror of such a crime. As he struggled to understand exactly what would bring a tall one to commit such acts, he noticed a few words printed atop its structure.
"it Pla" it said.
Struggling to read further, he lost track of the tall ones' activities in the kitchen. He knew they were talking though not about what. "It just seems to be missing something," one said to the other. "Missing what?" he thought.
He turned to see their faces and perhaps gain a bit more understanding of their conversation. It was too late to notice the knife but he had just enough time to finish reading the words on the plastic cover that had been placed beside him. It was then he realized his fate.
"Fruit Platter"
posted by Still Daddy at 4:52 PM
1 Comments:
I liked this a lot! Cute story, Adam. It made me laugh. Except for the very end, in which case I felt very bad for the peach.
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