Crisp

by Allison Pang

I think for a number of these topics, I'm going to start writing flash fiction as a bit of a warm-up to other things, particularly if I don't have much else to say on the subject. (I've a number of other little projects I'm working on, and I figure I might as well pop into some character heads to get to know them better. Which could be a good or bad thing.)


Crisp

The apple is crisp the way her bones are crisp – crunching between pale teeth, skin splitting to lay bare the sweetness of the flesh within. It drops from her fingers; such nerveless appendages no longer have use for fruit. The juice stains her lips, even as her blood stains mine.

Beneath a coating of dew, the apple glitters like snow in the sunlight.