It was your birthday drinks last time her arm was around you. It’s only been three weeks since then, you were in Fitzroy at yet another rooftop bar, basking in the suburban sunset. Your gift came in a plastic shopping bag.
You’re reading Hellboy in Hell—cornered in a pocket of the Brunswick library—the collected trade paperback of the original comics run. Hellboy is in Hell, because. He falls as a beating heart through the mouth of a petrified giant.
I want to say that death is just a wound things grow around and that I Miss the way the world tasted back then, before life touched me like that, Cold Finger pressed to my Tongue; hurts like freezer-burn, tastes like freezer-burn.
“Do you have wine?” Rebuffed inquired in a raspy voice.“No,” replied Oost. “Why? Should I?”Rebuffed inclined her head. “I just assumed.”Oost was silent for a time, perplexed. Rebuffed filled the space: “You know. Since we’re here.”
Murder and general mayhem sound just like your good old-fashioned fairy tales, something left behind in the myths and legends that belong in forgotten derelict book-shelves. Beware sensationalism but the reality is that it’s all just life, kids.
The holiday starts when we follow a white cat named Jennifer into the Faewild. In the backstory, Andi has been trying to catch her; she’s been cohabiting with Emily Dickinson in secret. We don’t remember the mechanics of entering the Faewild. It’s verdant and as bright as a Lisa Frank drawing.