| White Weewoos don't exist. *shifty eyes* |
Circulation: 194,151,536 |
Issue: 742 | 29th day of Swimming, Y18 |
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Short Stories
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"The Flyer" by _starryeyedsurprise_
I always look forward to the times when my grandmother comes to stay. She's my dad's mother and she comes from a little fishing village on the outskirts of Kiko Lake, and she's small and round and cuddly, just like you'd expect from a plushie Kiko. You should hear the lovely funny way she talks. Sometimes you can't understand what she's talking about and I have to get my dad to translate. When she's here for a holiday she never stops cooking, from the minute she arrives until the minute she leaves because she is so convinced that my dad and I don't get enough to eat.
"Ee, shkinny," she says, poking me in the ribs. "There's not a scrap of meat on them bones of yours. We'll soon fettle that." And she rolls her sleeves up, puts a pinny on and sets to work baking cakes, cookies and the yummiest mince beef and potato pies you ever tasted.
One morning, during the Festival of Neggs my mother was out for lunch with a friend, whilst my dad was out shopping, Grandma and I were having a great old time rolling out pastry and baking strawberry tarts. I was glad to be indoors in our nice cosy kitchen, especially with my grandma for company. She was cutting out the circles of dough and I was putting them in the tray and spooning dollops of jam into them. Quite a lot of the jam was finding its way into my mouth.
"Give over, our Eastly," said my grandma, rapping my knuckles with a wooden spoon. "You'll not want any dinner. And then it'll be me that gets the blame from your mam."
Just then there was a loud bang at the back door and Keriso, my zombie Draik best friend, stuck her head in.
Other Stories
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 Erin’s Extreme Avatar Guide: Destruct-O-Match III
Ever have one of those days where you feel like you just need to smash something? I’ve found that during a particularly difficult day, relief can be found in the form of Destruct-O-Match III. I mean, what’s more cathartic than making a bunch of boulders evaporate in a plume of smoke and dust?
by krazypinkgurl |
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 Clouds Over Cogham: Part Ten
The faerie’s clouds cling to the land like fog. They weave through the trees, and they caress the grass. They swirl like smoke around peoples’ eyes, and their presence hangs low like a canopy of death.
by theschizophrenicpunk |
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