A Taste


(Credit: Chuchy5 on DeviantArt)


I take a deep breath.

Cinnamon and paprika.

The chicken has probably been marinating since yesterday. Now the hissing fat is dripping into a tray, while the chef yells to her minions about the sauce. I imagine what it must be like to live upstairs in this mansion, not only having a feast for dinner every day, but having people prepare that feast for you. Eating a whole chicken, the cinnamon tickling my nose, the gravy running down my chin. I lick my lips.


The chef’s call pulls me back. I must have leant against the door while I was imagining, because it is wide open now. The chef marches over to me.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ With one hand, she adjusts her apron; the other clutches half a lemon. ‘Look, I don’t have anything for you today.’

I stare at the lemon.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘but you have to leave.’

I point at the lemon.

‘What?’ she says, ‘I’ve already pressed it.’

I point at the lemon again.

‘Alright,’ she hands me the lemon, ‘but you still have to go.’

I cradle the lemon in my hands as I turn my back. A firm push gets me started and I stagger across the courtyard. Beyond the gate, I sit down by the side of the road with my prize. I hold the lemon above my mouth and press it for all I am worth. The tart drops sting my lips. It is heaven.




It looks out the window and into my flat, lighting up my living room.

It has more colours the longer one studies it.

And its rubbery leaves smell of nothing.

The Hat Lady

(Credit: ny-image3.etsy.com)

(Credit: ny-image3.etsy.com)

She smelt of oranges and cloves all year round. She had a closet filled with hats and never wore the same one for more than three hours. For long trips out of the house she brought a large hat bag and sometimes I was allowed to pick some from the closet for her.

We went to the zoo and flapped our arms at the penguins and with sticky liquorice in our hands we walked through the forest without using the paths, but never losing our way. In the forest, she told me about bog monsters and trolls and the kind of fairies that pull you off to another world to be a pet.

‘Don’t ever believe that Tinkerbell is a real fairy,’ she told me as the liquorice cloyed my tongue.

After a long time without walks, I went to church with my parents and shortly after they sold all her hats except a brown bowler which I took. When I ran off to hide it, I got lost in the woods and when I sat down and held the bowler over my nose, it only smelt of dust.

Do You Remember?

Bananas !!

Bananas (Photo credit: Max xx)

Do you remember the flowers?

Oh, they were wonderful weren’t they?

Their bright contrast of blue and yellow and red and green. I especially liked the green flowers. It was so hard to see where the stem ended and the flower began.

Their scent rolled out over the field and it was so thick. I could taste the sweet artificial banana flavour on the air. Do you think they were made to smell like that or did someone spray the banana stuff over them later?

You did not care much for it as I recall. You just barfed and wanted new shoes.

But you always hated bananas.

Why do you always ruin my memories?

I was having a great time remembering until you came along.

Just go away.

Leave me with my flowers.

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