Peaces

by Helen Oyeyemi

I’m sure almost no one deludes themselves that all their ancestors were decent. Pick a vein, any vein: mud mixed with lightning flows through, an unruly fusion of bad blood and good.

She’s been the parental authority in his life for decades, and he’s learned that contradicting her sets up the first link in a chain of counter-contradictions that drags you to the underworld.

Sounds like my mother-in-law.

After one of her more acute bouts of insomnia, she looks so tired nobody realises she’s rich.

Not even Coke . . . Pepsi. The preferred beverage of souls damaged beyond repair.

“Just steaming my parts,” she said. “Mugwort keeps them happy.”

Seriously, don't do this. Your clam is not a literal clam.

The group was international in appearance and dressed in varying shades of a colour that had been agreed upon the night before, so they looked like a meditative gang or the junior branch of a cult. Other

The picture on it makes us look like Ikea models who might just get thrown in as freebies if you buy enough furniture.

So after a while she went, Ugh, I’ll just have to stay here with you lot, then.

Yeah, pretty much.

But he was all, “Oh, Allegra, if I was thirty years younger,” and she was all, “Mate . . . if you were thirty years younger I’d still be gay.”

The tale concerned a priest who tries to build a new type of instrument. A silent harpsichord that assigns a shade of colour to each note on the musical scale and displays those colours when a piece of music is played.

We do this all the time now. We've been able to 'see' soundwaves for a long time.

I’ve mentioned my assumption that nothing is ever OK. Even on good days I renew my nothing-is-ever-OK subscription so the next day is covered.

The less Ava liked us as a “we,” the tighter our hold.