Epiphany

Published by Susan Carberry at November 25, 2023

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She sat motionless, entranced by the bowl of fruit lying on the table. The peach stared back at her, its dimpled buttocks clothed in velvet, its stalk standing to attention, just like a periscope scanning for a victim.

She liked fruit, especially peaches, but this one unnerved her, the sinister-looking stem seemed to be searching her out. She stared back at the periscopic pedicle of the soft, rounded fruit expecting a salvo of gunfire, but with a distinct crack, the peach exploded in a messy, fleshy burst of light. Silence.

Rooted to the spot, she recalled her youth with flames giving out Satanic messages, clouds scudding across the sky emitting telepathic signals from the outer limits, and now, a viscerally exploding peach. Had her madness returned?

She laughed, remembering weeks spent in a psychiatric ward, the talking therapy sessions and the wonderful, progressive Swedish psychologist who said she wasn’t mad, she just had different experiences.

He not only “cured” her, but he helped her to gain insight into the so-called illness.

At last, the hospital doors stopped revolving. The mayhem in her mind was gone. The psyche, its tricks, nightmares, and false perceptions fooled her no longer. Insight was her catharsis.

She stood looking at the bowl resting on the table. The fruit sat there, inanimate, and deliciously tempting. She stretched out her hand, grasped the peach, bit into it, and smiled.

Need more great reads? Check out these short stories from the MockingOwl Roost community.

Susan Carberry

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Susan was born and lives in NW London. For thirty years her inspiration is an eclectic mix of social commentary, the natural world, the human condition, humour and a deep faith in God. She spends her time between Roundwood Lodge and Rubio Café, having breakfast at Roundwood, and in the afternoon arriving at Rubio for a latte and a ‘to die for’ slice of carrot cake. She is a familiar figure in her neighbourhood, speeding along in her mobility scooter. When asked how she is, her response is always: I’m still alive. Yes, Susan’s still alive!

For more, check out Susan reading her poetry.