My teeth tear into the peach’s soft flesh, it’s fuzz tickling my lip. It’s good-sweet, juicy, the liquid dribbling down my chin. I don’t bother to wipe any of it off-I’m too involved in my thoughts.

My upper teeth snick against the pit, bouncing off its rough surface, before continuing their decent downward to meet their brethren, as my mouth snaps shut and I begin to chew.

I’m thinking about the peach, now, what my ex always told me-that the peach is poisonous. I wonder how many people know that-that there’s cyanide in the pit of this sweet little creature. I wonder if they know how deadly it can be…And I wonder if they plan to do something with it.

It would take a lot, I’m sure, before it did anything-pit after pit ground down. Would they do it in doses, getting sick before dying. Po in a single dose? How long would they spend, grinding up the pit? Would they savor the sweetness, or just cut out the poison, so that it may tear through their flesh instead?

How much would it take, for someone to do that to themselves? Would it take a dead wife, or something more?

I throw out the pit.