Millions of Peaches

In today's story, Millions of Peaches, Daria and Tommy are learning to survive on their own in their mostly abandoned town

Today's prompt is a phrase from the lyrics of a song that was stuck in my head: Peaches by The Presidents of the United States of America. Anything can be a writing prompt. If you have a suggestion, please let me know!

Note: If you're looking for ways to speak out about our current situation (in the U.S.), you can check out 50501, Indivisible, and Common Cause. You can also visit 5calls.org to stay up to date on issues and easily contact your representatives.

More about Susan Quilty

Susan Quilty mainly writes novels, including two standalone novels and her YA series: The Psychic Traveler Society.  Susan's short stories for Freely Written are created during quick writing breaks and shared as a way to let go of perfection and encourage writing for fun.

Website:  SusanQuilty.com
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Transcript

Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 158 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:

Welcome to Freely Written, where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.  

[Light piano music]

Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty, and today’s prompt is Millions of Peaches.

If you’re Gen X or an elder Millennial, you may already be singing today’s prompt. Yes, today’s prompt is from a song that is currently stuck in my head. And that song is Peaches by The Presidents of the United States of America. You may also know their 90s hit Lump, or that their cover of Cleveland Rocks was used as the theme song for The Drew Carey Show.  

Okay, that’s enough 90s trivia. I have no idea where this writing prompt will lead, which is basically the point of this podcast. If you’re a new listener, here’s how my process works: I sit down with a prompt and write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing, then I record the story and share it with you. 

Freewriting is a great tool for exploring your imagination and exercising your creativity. It’s a chance to set aside planning—and expectations—and just let the words flow. Sometimes, freewriting leads to some really interesting ideas. Other times, it may fall a bit flat. 

Part of my practice here is sharing whatever comes out, regardless of how well I like the result. I’m doing that as a reminder (for both you and me) that writing can simply be fun, without expecting to turn every project into a perfectly polished story. Writing can be a hobby, outside of being a career. 

That being said, I do write professionally, as well. If you’d like to see my carefully crafted novels and other books, please visit my website: SusanQuilty.com. Or look up “Susan Quilty” wherever you buy books. I’ve written novels for both adult and young adult readers, as well as a silly genre-blending, choose-your-path gamebook. 

And now, let’s get on to today’s story:

Millions of Peaches 

The wind had been howling through the narrow alleyway for most of the night. Tommy had slept through it, while Daria had tossed and turned for hours. Now, in the pale light of morning, Daria was ready to forage. She’d divvied up their morning rations. Packets of mixed nuts and crackers, along with mini bottles of apple juice. 

They’d recently stocked up on mini-bar supplies at a hotel, but they were limited to what they had found in the storage closets. The snacks already stocked in the mini-bars were trapped in key-card-locked rooms that they didn’t know how to open without electricity. 

“Where are the cookies?” Tommy asked while tearing open his crackers. But Daria shook her head. 

“We’ll save them for mid-morning.” 

Tommy accepted her answer, holding out his juice bottle for help with the cap. The lid twisted off with a satisfying pop, and Daria handed the bottle back, wishing—not for the first time—that she had a way to make coffee. 

They had found plenty of coffee makers in their travels, but they all needed electricity. Daria had nearly taken some ground coffee and filters, thinking she could make a fire to boil water, but fires were dangerous. They drew too much attention. 

As she watched Tommy lick salt from his fingers, Daria was glad she had been babysitting him, and not some of the other kids she regularly watched, on the night it happened. Tommy was good-natured and happy to follow her orders. He hadn’t argued or cried after their initial shock. He was quiet when Daria told him to be quiet. He was quick or still when Daria told him to be quick or still. 

Honestly, Tommy had adapted with an eerie calm that sometimes grated on Daria’s frayed nerves. At 17, she was more than twice his age but didn’t feel at all qualified for the trust he had placed in her. In fact, Tommy had come through more than once with skills he’d learned at Adventure Camp or from one of his many trivia books. He was a bright seven-year-old with a surprising number of facts stuffed in his head. 

Daria was also glad that Tommy’s family lived in a fancy townhouse in the center of town. There were restaurants, hotels, offices, grocery stores, pharmacies, and convenience shops all within easy walking distance. And the town center was built densely enough to have fairly concealed alleys for safer travel. 

Still, they had to be careful when moving from building to building. It was rare to see people after the first few weeks of hiding in Tommy’s house, but they’d seen enough of the patrols to know that they were to be avoided. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Daria tried to blot out the memories of people being dragged into vans, screaming and fighting to get free. She didn’t know who had set off the bombs or why everyone had been taken away. It had happened too fast. Something knocking out the power and killing her cell service in a flash. Explosions and chaos. 

She had pulled Tommy into the secret playroom attached to his bedroom. An area hidden by a door that looked like a bookcase. It was an addition his parents had built for whimsy, never expecting it to be a real hiding place. Or maybe they had? Daria had always thought it was just for fun, though there was a latch to hold the bookcase door closed. Had his parents always meant it to be a hiding place? A panic room? 

If she found them, Daria planned to ask about that. She winced at that thought, replacing the if with a when. She was trying to hold on to a future where she would find Tommy’s parents… and her parents. Her sister. Her friends. 

“Are we staying here today?” Tommy asked into the silence. He had finished his breakfast and was lightly bouncing on the faux leather couch. 

They had camped in an office space above the shops on one of the main streets through town. The signs identified it as Carter Title and Escrow, but Daria wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. The brochures looked like the company had something to do with real estate, but she hadn’t bothered to read them.  

She’d liked that it was one of the smaller companies they’d found. A few private offices ringed around a glass-walled conference room. One of the smaller rooms was empty except for a couch and a small end table. Though it was big enough to just fit a second couch they’d dragged in from the lobby. The lobby windows offered a view of the empty streets, while the room they’d camped in looked out over the back alley. 

The room they were in felt cozy and protected by the row of other offices closer to the lobby. If someone were to come in, Daria and Tommy were small enough to slide under the couches and hopefully not be found. But they were running out of supplies and needed to restock. 

“No, but we’ll stay close,” Daria told him, deciding as the words came out. They hadn’t explored all of the offices in the three stories above the retail shops on this block yet. 

After hiding half of their remaining food packets under the couches, they slid their mostly empty backpacks over their shoulders and cautiously passed through the lobby. Daria checked her pocket for the door key. They’d been lucky that the main door had been left open and there were a set of keys in the receptionist’s desk. 

Though Daria knew whoever had been here during the initial raid hadn’t been as lucky. The lobby had shown signs of a struggle with a knocked-over lamp and papers scattered across the floor. One of the glass walls around the conference room had a spider-web crack as if something—or someone—had been thrown into it. 

After locking the office door, Daria led Tommy down the shadowed hallway and into the stairwell. They hadn’t been on the next highest floor yet, and, while Daria was fairly confident they were the only ones there, she couldn’t be sure there wasn’t anyone else hiding out. 

The hallway upstairs looked much like the hallway outside the title company, except there were clear signs of construction. Many doorways were open but covered with plastic sheeting. When they slipped through one of the doorways, they found a large unfinished area that went on for at least half of the building. Construction equipment was scattered around the space, and several pallets held large stacks of unmarked boxes. 

“Should we see what’s inside?” Daria asked with an encouraging grin. 

They both carried pocketknives. Tommy had a small one he’d earned at adventure camp, and Daria had taken one from his dad’s camping gear. Hers was more of a multi-tool with more gadgets than she could name. Tommy had promised to only use his with supervision, and Daria tried to do most of the cutting to limit the chance of accidents. 

She unfolded a blade and began slicing open the boxes. They held a curious mix of items. The first few boxes were filled with office supplies. Stacks of notepads, pens, binders, paper trays, and three-hole punches. 

Tommy had fun punching holes in some paper while Daria moved on, unboxing more useful items like packs of toilet paper and paper towels, disposable utensils, paper plates, and napkins. One box revealed several pre-stocked first aid kits. Another had bags of ground coffee that Daria sniffed longingly. 

One of the larger boxes was too heavy for Daria to easily move. She inched around it, getting into a better position to slice the packing tape, then carefully folded the flaps back. 

“What’s in it?” Tommy asked, seeing a smile spread across Daria’s face. 

She looked up, the smile lighting her eyes. 

“Peaches,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Lots of peaches.”

She triumphantly held up one of the small cans. A snack-sized portion of canned peaches with an easy pull-tab top. Tommy clambered over and peered into the box. 

“Millions of peaches!” he called out happily. After days of dry crackers, pretzels, cookies, and nuts, the thought of soft, sweet peaches filled them both with delight. 

Daria fished out a pack of plastic spoons, sat on the bare floor, and pulled open two cans. They feasted on the sweet fruit, drank the juice, and enjoyed a moment of hope. 

The End 

Thanks for listening. It took me a while to get to the peaches. I started writing with the vague idea of some kids on their own who would somehow find a large stash of canned peaches. Having them be alone in the aftermath of… something, seemed like a good way to give the peaches more value. But then, I spent so much time imagining their situation that I suddenly looked at how many pages I’d written and realized I needed to get them to the peaches asap!

I hope you enjoyed this story and will check out some of the episodes you may have missed. The stories here can be enjoyed in any order, though a few do have call-backs to earlier episodes. And, again, I would really love for you to read my carefully planned work. Please visit my website, SusanQuilty.com, to learn more about my novels. Links are in the show notes. 

Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you. 

[Light piano music]