Behind the door of my grandmother’s oven is soot and smoke and molten plums and blackened silver. It is a forge for something greater than you (don’t take it personally), greater than me: the wisdom of ages, stirred backwards through time in a tarnished pot and baked to such dense stickiness that to look at it is to feel your teeth twinge.

The pudding follows supper, a small meal that follows dinner, a vast meal that follows lunch. Think you can refuse it? You cannot. There are fifteen coins to be found and you must find one, or die trying.

One thought on “Fifteen

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