Pie & Mash_Glad To Be Of Service_A Messy Thing_The Hole Was Dark Like The Whole Of My Heart
Catalog Guide:
Pie & Mash
Beauty is like the eels our old cook, Mathilde, would purchase at the market: slippery, sinuous, but delicious, when contained. As a girl, before life and my own ugliness had pressed me into the resentful shadow I am now, I would sneak down to the kitchen in late morning, when she’d return with a basketful of them.“Miss Ana, you’re not supposed to be down here, yeh know,” she’d gently chastise at me. “Yeh’re missing yer lessons, letters, numbers, pianoforte.”“They’ve finished,” I’d respond, pressing my thumb into the still glistening round of one the lamprey’s eyes, so smooth and slightly yi...
Glad To Be Of Service
“Flying Carpet Taxi Service, Rita speaking, how can I help?” A melody of panpipes swings in the background while the operator plays with the djinn facepalm sticker she just bought. It is dark outside, almost midnight. Light boxes on the walls send waves of brightness into her workplace, more like a living room than an office. Her table accommodates a computer, a keyboard, a mouse, and a magic lamp. Her toga is a bit ruffled as is the makeup on her face. Several carpets float just below the ceiling, waiting to be called upon.“I need a ride. Fast!”She rolls her eyes and has a hard time letting g...
A Messy Thing
Statement of Stewart Forsyth. Male. 34、 Insurance Adjuster.She fell.No, I didn't follow her. I was there because she invited me. I'd actually made a point to avoid her that night, until she approached me.This wedding had been postponed so many times. First by the bride, then the groom, then COVID.www.onedoor.cc I thought we’d be giving eulogies before wedding toasts, so when it finally happened all the groomsmen made a pact to focus on celebrating the bride and groom. No distractions. No chasing women.And in walks the maid of honor.She has this curled, sandy hair. This blue floral dress. Those “fuck you” de...
The Hole Was Dark Like The Whole Of My Heart
‘I’ve done this a lot of times but I don’t like digging a hole for my friend’ he thought looking at the damp pile of earth next to him. He sat down on the hard ground and took off his gloves calculating on his fingers roughly how many times he had dug a hole so that someone’s mother, or father, or sister or brother or just someone’s friend could be put into it – and the dark earth that he had painstakingly taken out of the ground, being shovelled back in on top of the lid on top of the person. He used to write it down, but forgot a few times, and then it all got too hard to remember. Sometimes...