Cuddles looked down into the casket. They’d done a good job, cleaned up his teeth, put colour in his cheeks. His skin looked normal, not wasted and greyed from so many fucking years. Continue reading
I have a limited capacity for empathy. My psychologist told me that, with an expression on his face that I did not and choose not to understand.
“Don’t eat that”, said the Queen, slapping the King’s hand with a wooden spoon. He yelped. Bitch be cray with her spoon. Continue reading
“A priest blessed me,” he said to her over a basket of first-date skinny fries at GBK. He leaned in a little closer. “He blessed me … down there.” Continue reading
The forest was forbidden, but she was the fairest of them all, and if that had taught her anything at all over the years, it was that nothing stayed forbidden for very long. Continue reading
Burning butter. I sniff again. Yes, absolutely. Sweet and rich, but with a black vein of smoke. This smell means nothing to me. I’m sure of it. Then why do I know exactly what it is, without hesitation? The burning of butter carries no significance for me, there is no connective tissue, no memory comes, immediate, borne on wings. Then why is there a horrible chill in my collarbone, in my knuckles? Continue reading
Jesus is my fuckbuddy.
The blood in her cheeks was freezing. Lightning burst in the night sky, each flash casting a smash of light over Castle Bergens, sat high and far in the Carpathian mountains. It would appear so stark and bright before vanishing once again into darkness. It looks like it’s getting closer, Little Maxi said when the lightning once more threw up the mountain range. Lizbeth pushed him along, bade him comfort wee Tilda, who was inside, out-screaming the thunder. As he ran in, she stood there at the gate just a moment more, her red hair whipping in the water and wind, watching the storm play out. Continue reading