The Gray House

by Mariam Petrosyan

All of his victories smelled of defeat.

We’ve been living side by side for far too long. Our sides have merged, and we all share common habits now. Soon we won’t even need to open our mouths anymore to express an opinion, everyone will already know everything.

I am all wrung out like a sponge, someone could use me to wipe the floor.

I like rereading things I’ve read a hundred times over. I like the sound of the harmonica, provided I’m the one playing it. I like lots of pockets, and clothes so worn that they become a kind of second skin instead of something that can be taken off.

He is so right about these things

Anything we can give to him will immediately end up in it, because no dinner can possibly approach the happiness of feeding another, especially if that other is Fire,

Greed this extraordinary is an accomplishment of sorts.