what’s the dill, pickle?

I distrust men with insight into a woman’s soul. That last line: ‘For the first time, she was certain that she was going to die.’ Bugger.

IMG_7784

Art by la_perfection_est_atroce

Conceited Crusade

She tried to twist the lid free. It was no use. Stupid goddamned pickle jar. All she wanted was one fucking pickle.

He had always been handy for things like that.

Not for listening.

Or caring.

Not for discussing feelings.

Not for protecting her heart or drying her tears.

She didn’t need him for any of that stuff anyway. But man, he could open a jar.

After days of surviving the marathon sob sessions and torturous loneliness, she sat in the kitchen floor with a sealed jar of pickles. For the first time, she was certain that she was going to die.

Underdaddy

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About listentothebabe

writing is the teeth that gnaw on my bones.

3 comments

  1. My husband works nights and is usually not home for dinner so I’m always sure he opens the pickle jar before he leaves. Also, good for killing bugs and plunging toilets. Can’t live with em, can’t live without em.

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