Have you ever been very cold and someone gives you a hot drink? You know, the sensation of warming up from the inside. It feels like it starts like a lit firework in your chest, sharp and hot and burning as the liquid makes its way down. While it travels it doesn’t hurt nearly as much or feel nearly as warm.
I can’t even take a deep breath when I think about it, I am treading shallow air and my fingertips cannot get warm no matter how many times I sit on my hands or tuck them between my thighs. I have purple fingertips, when I think about it.
I thought I was supposed to feel like the monarch girl in that story I wrote over a year ago. There are no wings in this story though, are there?
I have baked this lovely cake to only discover that, yet again, it is composed entirely of crunchy cockroaches. And I didn’t even look properly before I bit in so now I’m just left with this taste in my mouth. And I’m humiliated that I thought I could bake in the first place. The worst part is the bits and bobs in my teeth.
Prattle Peach 