The globe of the fruit glistened before her, an orb of promise and potential, of passion, power and something she couldn’t yet name, but could almost taste.
“You won’t surely die,” promised that charming beast with a wily smile and a dart of his forked tongue.
Die - she held the word, pressed it against her palate, again and again until the word lost all meaning. But what meaning did it have, then? Her perfect parameters couldn’t encompass it.
She took the fruit. So simple. A slight reach, a tug - it yielded, eager to be known. The not-too-perfect sphere had an unexpected weight. Her husband, at her shoulder, was silently eyeing the transaction. If he objected, he’d surely speak?
In an instant, it was at her mouth. The bite was easy, the flesh sweet, sticky, then too sweet, cloying; the rot entered her body. Juice, like blood, trickled down her chin and wrist.
The gaping fruit showed her the world: cities, lights, alleys, cellars, the dark and the secret, the shadows of uncountable lives, all in that one concave crunch. She wanted to vomit but the bloody bite wouldn’t budge. She passed it to the watching man.
Katie Holloway is (among other things) a writer, mum, wife and employee based in the south-east of England. She is fueled by strong tea and can’t help herself writing flash fiction over breakfast. You can find her stories (now or soon) in Reflex Press, The Birdseed and Funny Pearls. She's also on Twitter @KatieLHWrites or Instagram @loseyourselfbooks.