Reading Time: 3 Mins
They had been stranded on the small island for weeks and Goran was working Paul’s last nerve.
“Take it down,” Paul said, referring to the woven flag Goran had planted in front of their shelter.
“Why?” Goran said. “It’s patriotic. This place needs a flag.”
The flag had left a tart taste in his mouth and, to Paul, it was just another sign that Goran had given up on being rescued.
The island was small but lush, had fresh water, fish and, absurdly, a peach tree right in the centre of it.
They both craved the peaches.
Goran ate a lot, snored and was generally a mean and lazy person. Paul wished he’d have been stuck on the island with anyone else.
He wanted to divide the island and knew which half Goran would snatch up, which he was fine with. As long as they shared the tree.
Goran agreed to the plan.
They also split the belongings that had washed up on shore. Goran kept the basket, pot and broom while Paul kept the net, can and mirror. Any future flotsam would be equally divided.
And for the tree, they were allowed two peaches a week.
It wasn’t long before Paul suspected Goran was eating more than his fair share of peaches; the carpet of pits littered around the base of the tree showed that the man was not even trying to hide it.
When accused, Goran would shrug and Paul would get enraged.
Paul vowed to stand watch over the peaches.
The cyclone that had capsized their boat had done damage to the island as well and Paul gathered the larger logs from fallen trees on his side of the island and built a fence to keep Goran from his side of the tree.
The fence was not taken well by Goran, who planted more flags on his side of it and woke Paul up every morning singing a new national anthem he made up which gave praise to the cyclone that had shipwrecked them.
After three days, Paul took to sharpening a stick.
He couldn’t take the cyclone song anymore.
He hid behind the fence at night.
Waiting for the slurping noises Goran made when he munched on the peaches.
The noises. Paul attacked with his spear. And landed on one of Goran’s own.
They died; their decomposing bodies giving the tree all it needed to thrive.
Written daily using the #vss365 word prompts on twitter, compiled weekly into a story of exactly 400 words.
#patriotic #tart #snatch #pot #carpet #cyclone #munched