“She wanted to relive the memories, the ephemeral emotions of happiness she felt when she was younger – unmolded. She did not account for the fact that she was a different person hoping to feel the sentiments of years ago.”
The lemon was precious, as was every morsel of food that entered one’s house. I was raised to shudder at the mere thought of throwing away anything on my plate, encouraged to catch all the stray grains of kasha and watching my dad soak up every last bit of soup in his plate with the bread my mum baked like clockwork every few days.
A much celebrated and reviled Nass tradition. To telescope, writers write a brief 300 word piece on a theme (this year, “melt”). Then, a 150 word piece. Then, 75 words. Then, 37 and a half. You’ll see.
“It was her turn to paint the world in a different light, through words carefully arranged on a page. To assume the role of the enchanter and cast her clever spells. To dream with her eyes wide open.”
“You didn’t talk to me today. And I suppose I didn’t say anything either. So I searched for an excuse for you to remember me, wondering what I could possibly ask.”
