#46 The Living Magnet

by Jasmine Templet

Her father looked like a dragon underneath his silver spoon scales. They lined up around his eyes, wrapping around his cheeks and chin. Over and under his arms they clung and if he were able to raise his arms up they would dangle like icicles in some dark cave.

He wasn’t going to raise his arms. He wasn’t going to move or blink or breathe ever again.

Jacinta stroked her hand along the silver her father’s mourners and fans had left on him. Even in death he was the Living Magnet.

Her mother was surrounded by a phalanx of women in shades of black.

“What are you wearing?” her aunt, Pauline, hissed in Jacinta’s ear.

Jacinta looked down at her brown combat boots caked with dirt.

She shook off Pauline’s grip, walking purposely towards the exit of the church. The smell and sound of mourning ran through her like icy water. She wanted to go home.

It wasn’t far. A few blocks and she was at the backdoor to her kitchen. She kicked at the small tears in the linoleum before setting the table. She set a place for herself and her parents. It was Sunday and Sunday meant they all ate together. Sunday meant her father would make her mother giggle by putting spoons and forks on his face. Her mother had never stopped laughing.

Jacinta picked up the spoon next to her setting, placing it on her nose. It clung, as she sat staring into her empty plate.

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