He was the colour of honey, a few freckles across his shoulders, his pale-pink nipples catching the sunlight.
She killed more bees, just so she could fill the tiny bee graves she’d dug.
She said she’d visited my father’s grave and told him my news. He was, I understand, thrilled by it.
He smirked as he signed the form for an inspection of my prostate.
The service was conducted, of course, by a large angel with glitter in her hair.
If you’re thinking of seeing the Ministry for yourself, it is probably wise to take sandwiches, a thermos and maybe a sleeping bag.
Finally, I sat in the barber’s chair. “Not too short,” I said. “You want me to cut your eyebrows?” he asked.