Applesauce

Her family loves apples so despite the fight she carted off in a cardboard box the tree’s fruit. My family has applesauce in its veins, was what she told me. When I saw her there were cores littering her countertops, a pan boiling on the woodstove. Did she see the metaphor? Those gnarled branches over her head. I took her coring knife, though cut fruit was a present I would not be offering, not to my relations. Beside me she sliced another tree-gift. By stovelight our wrists flashed, the lines in them crisscrossing as we worked, tangling and yet not.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

Funky

There was something funky about the way no one noticed as he walked the sidewalk.

The gentleman picking out fruit at the corner stand. The woman walking her dog towards him. The delivery man checking over the boxes in back of his truck. Never mind it was ten in the evening.

Not one person glanced in his direction.

He stopped at the newsstand, looked over the headlines, asked about the impending strike at the local paper. The vendor grunted noncommittally.

He fished into his pocket, as if looking for change, and drew in one smooth motion.

Everyone reacted at once.

Fallen Fruit

The peach tree in the yard was surrounded by fallen fruit, all of it shockingly well preserved, as if each one had been individually painted there. The house itself was in worse shape, with pealing paint, overgrown ivy, and several cracked window panes. No one lived there anymore but ghosts.

Sarah took in the scene from her car. She'd been nervous all morning, not knowing what to expect, but now that they were here, she felt nothing. She was simply numb.

"Let's go." Henry drove away. Sarah stared at the old neighborhood and wondered why people take pleasure from nostalgia.

Rental Agreement

They were only pygmy hippos, she said, and she was planning to have them fixed. They were emotional support animals, one for each of her personalities, so there was nothing we could do about it. The pond became unspeakable, even though it was still below freezing. They floated there in the muck like ominous little storm clouds forming over smog. Trucks delivering their crates of fruit and greens continually blocked the driveway. Then one day their gauzy pink wings emerged. Angels, someone whispered, despite the aerial bombardment of neighboring gardens that now commenced. Then the local population began leaving offerings.

From Guest Contributor F. J. Bergmann

Greek Yogurt

Have you ever tasted Greek yogurt?

The consistency is so thick, and the taste is so bland.

It comes in 2% reduced fat, 1% reduced fat, and fat-free.

Add to it your favorite fruit or other sweet toppings, you’ll be surprised how delicious it will be.

Strawberries, blueberries, bananas, oranges, or even dark chocolate chips.

Finish it off with granola to give it some crunch and some honey to give it some sweetness.

Yum, delicious.

Greek yogurt is that simple yogurt that tastes bland until you add delicious toppings to it.

Give Greek yogurt a try; you might like it.From Guest Contributor Hope Scippio

Hope is a published author, as well as a student of journalism, graphic design, and broadcasting at Pikes Peak State College.

His Majesty

The king sits on his throne with a large and excruciating chest wound. The room is filled with blood and lifeless bodies, his men.

The beautifully decorated hall is covered in blood and the delicately prepared meat and fruit sit untouched never to be eaten.

The king hasn’t much time. He can’t feel his legs and his body is cold. He reaches for his ring and struggles with his weak fingers to remove it. As he releases it, he slumps over and the ring drops to the ground, the noise echoing in the quiet.

His Majesty will soon be replaced.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sweet Freedom

Mira closes her eyes and concentrates.

“Very good, Mira. This time you held your concentration and an apple appeared.”

Mira takes a hard bite of the fruit with a distasteful expression. She is telekinetic, and her parents sent her to a special school for young adults with the same talent. She hasn’t forgiven them.

“Try it again, only think larger.”

Mira resumes her position and raises her lips into a grin.

The roof caves in, and a black convertible appears, surrounded by falling rubble. Mira gets in, puts the car in gear and speeds through the debris into sweet freedom.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Platero And I: Someone Wrote To Colonel

The Colonel finally got mail, Platero. He has been waiting for this letter for such a long time: his daughter will finally visit him, after all those years. And he will meet the granddaughter he didn’t even know existed.

I remember that, after another violent argument with the Colonel, she ran away one night, carrying nothing more than the clothes she was wearing.

All searching was ultimately in vain.

I never told anyone this before, Platero, but I have sheltered her for over a week, until the search was given up.

Her as well as the fruit in her womb. From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Apple Jenga

Pyramids of fruit abound in the market’s produce section.

A man pokes and squeezes to find the perfect Gala. Five tiers down, he locates a winner, and the Jenga game begins.

He shapes his hand into a “C,” then moves in slowly to extract the prize, leaving a hole in the pyramid where the apple once was.

Standing a little taller, he raises his chin and puffs up his chest.

One aisle over, he sees a woman arch her back and hold her shoulders high. Next to her, three holes exist in the Golden Delicious pile.

He’s met his match.

From Guest Contributor Jennifer Lai

Five-Minute Rule

An apple drops onto the produce floor and bounces twice before rolling under the corn stack. You’d hoped to walk away, but three ladies saw it happen and are giving you an accusatory look. So you pick up the fruit and carry it to the baked goods section.

Five minutes later, you return the dropped apple and turn it inwards to hide the bruised spot and wet corn silk.

You grin with satisfaction and think of the poor sucker who doesn’t check his fruit before purchase.

At home, later that day, you unbag your peaches and notice they are mushy.

From Guest Contributor Jennifer Lai