sevrige
It was in the loft that I found it. Caked with dust that shivered in the light through the attic beams as I picked it up, the object was even more strange than I expected. It was light, surprisingly so, and when I opened it I couldn't quite understand what I saw inside.
She slapped me hard across the face. "Pie isn't in your diet, Mary." I looked at her scorn, and matched in with my best form of innocence. "But isn't pie-eating the biggest part?"
"IT'S PIETY, MARY."
They wept in silence as the flames passed to another child. The torch of awful shitty shit was happening. They were burning her poo at the alter and she couldn't have been more sad about it. So the poo burnt, and everyone was sad. So they gave the prioress money, and she wept, and she kept it, all for the mighty Jesus. And also, someone had a torch.
I have, of colors, a sheet clean. A stare, plain gaze, peers through. The green, the trees, a window through. My palette, a fugue.
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