A Saturday Fiction in 58
I've the time for a Fiction in 58.
Fickle
She picked at hearts like testing fruit, looking for bruises, thumping them for ripeness. It was a cruel diversion and she knew it, believing it was her right to harvest the best, suck the sweetness, select another. She was finicky and fickle.
He brushed past, a little close, smiled.
She licked her lips, sighed. Low fruit tasted best.
Fickle
She picked at hearts like testing fruit, looking for bruises, thumping them for ripeness. It was a cruel diversion and she knew it, believing it was her right to harvest the best, suck the sweetness, select another. She was finicky and fickle.
He brushed past, a little close, smiled.
She licked her lips, sighed. Low fruit tasted best.
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