Socialite Fuckery
a micro fiction
Mother’s house reeked of hooves. I didn’t even know that was an identifiable odor until the week leading up to the Jello party of 1984. And how fitting a year. 2+2 was always 5 when she cooked.
The ladies cooed at her hard work, the intention clear: talk circles around consuming. The slop, that is.
Divine, Barbara.
Spam Jell-O too!
Oh, you’ve outdone yourself.
With the grace of a gas light sparking the darkness, Mother pranced around the ice tub with a tasting spoon, eyes devouring potential victims. Mercifully ignoring me for once.
Pigs. That’s what she called them.
Photographer: Pond Frog
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Thank you for reading! This is part of a micro fiction series where I take a photo and write a story inspired by it. Each story is 100 words.
If you enjoyed, you might like this one:
About the Creator
Mackenzie Davis
“When you are describing a shape, or sound, or tint, don’t state the matter plainly, but put it in a hint. And learn to look at all things with a sort of mental squint.” Lewis Carroll
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Comments (5)
This is awesome! So clever!
Lol, this is right up my alley. I enjoyed this so much!
Orwell? 'Winston was gelatinous with fatigue.' Haha, I had to do a bit of googling. Read both of the books, but quite a long time ago. But did I see the references right or just imagined them?
Anyone else hungry? 🤢 Thanks for the gastronomic gesture!
Somehow I see Mother as Bette Davis/ Baby Jane! Disturbing- in a good way!