I hate nearly everyone's writing on substack so here's something to make you feel

saturn peaches - a micro story

Everyone is boring me to tears on here. My god, you people call yourselves writers?

Have some fucking fun. Stop being so drab. Use your skills of imagination.

Make a world.

Bring us in it.

Maybe this is advice for myself.

In that case, I’m taking it.

Here is a world.

A short story. A flash of fiction. I wrote it two years ago and it slipped through my pen as if it were a liquid dream. Two years later, I’m still trying to understand what happened to me as I wrote it.

But, play this first:

Now, here is the story.

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Saturn Peaches

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I washed the salt off my face where the fresh ocean dripped and dried on my cheeks. I was alone. I brought a wrapped cloth bag of peaches as my lunch.

When would he meet me?

I left him a small scribbled note at his work, handing it off to a fellow employee. Hopefully he’d receive it, and better yet join me here.

Here had a miraculous way of being wherever you were. I had left America and here followed me. I wasn’t one to ask men out — but here, this here, I was different.