"Timothy, Timothy!" Cindy yells. "What, Cindy?" he says stubbornly. "You won't believe this!" "WHAT, CINDY?" "The council members! They said..." she was short of breath. "I'm scared, Timothy." "Scared of what?" he says, more nervous than before. "They said... the count has been low lately... and... and they are getting a couple tomatos... and they have to be ripe... you know, like you and me. The others are too old, too moldy.." her voice trails off. "Cindy," Timothy rolls over to where Cindy is. He rubs his cheek against hers, and whispers, "It wont be us. You worry too much." "You don't know!" she yells. "What are the chances we will get picked, Cindy? Listen to me. We. Will. Not. Be. Picked." Timothy's voice was like smooth, easy flowing staccatos. "Even if we do, you shouldn't be upset. We should spend our last time together." "You're so sweet, Timothy. Now go to bed, they pick the ripest ones tomorrow." "I love you, Cindy." She smiles, but doesn't say anything back.
As Timothy lays down for bed, he realizes that he may just be the ripest one.
"What will I do?" he wonders.
YOU ARE READING
Timothy the Tomato
Short StoryTimothy Tomato has a big problem. He may just be the ripest one of the season. What does being ripe get him? Read it to find out! *note- this is not meant to be a serious book. i made it just for fun, and for your enjoyment!
