Mar 27, 2008
By
“Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn” said Jerry.
He pulled himself up from under his car, and watched as the puddle of gasoline on his shirt expanded upwards to merge with the sweat stains under his armpit.
He reached for his bag and rummaged around for cigarettes, but then realized what he was about to do and stopped.
“What the hell did you just say?” said his wife.
She was standing on the porch holding a tin of artichoke hearts and eating them with her hands. She took no notice of the oil as it slipped through her fingers.
Jerry looked at the grease stain on her blouse – a perfect, miniature counterpart to his – and felt a wave of sappiness that he tried hard to suppress.
“What the hell did you just say?” said his wife, again.
“I said goddamn” said Jerry, quietly.
– Simon “Maverick” Lewsen
The royal family sat for the portrait in April. Not the whole family, but the children. The dogs. In order, from smallest to tallest to smallest again, Janey Sarah William Penelope Sam. The girls laced up in the family finest, told not to move not even to breathe, not like they could they were tied so tight. One thing you should know: the painter was seven minutes late. Also, there was another sister. Fifteen and a half minutes late with mud on her skirts. She’s not part of the portrait so we don’t know her name. Only the mud-caked silk, found years later, snagged on a branch outside the palace. Historians insist there was no sign of a struggle.
– Claire Caldwell