It was one of those boxes. The kind imported from some country and sold at a mall by a lady in a two wolves t-shirt with frazzled hair that wreaked of incense and oil. In fact, there were twelve others on the table just like it. But this was the one. The one containing the soul of the pie god. If the box were opened, pie would rain down upon the earth for a thousand years. Which didn’t sound like a bad thing; everyone liked pie. Until one was drown and burned alive in tons of molten filling, of course.
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ReplyDeleteYou probably meant 'reeked' rather than 'wreaked'.
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Although this does conjure up a vivid image of incense and oil attacking the lady's hair and wreaking hair-damage necessitating a haircut and deep-conditioning, instead of the incense and oil making her hair smell strongly. So maybe that is what you intended.
Either way, I do like this and am loving all of your flash fiction at this blog/site.
And, of course, I was so quick to comment I missed the other line edit.
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drown -> drowned
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lol whoops. Yes.
ReplyDelete