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[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 5 TRANSCRIPT

[OPENING MUSIC]

[FISH LAUGHS EXCITEDLY]

FISH

I think that today, I will cause problems on purpose! 

Ummmm… Okay. [unintelligible muttering] Uh—here we go. [she clears her throat] I don’t… remember how he does his intro.

[Clearly and with intent] Siren’s Song.

FISH (STORY)

Your name is Harmony. A bit on the nose, maybe, you like it just fine. After all, you picked it out yourself, didn’t you? Yes, because before it had been Piper, and Jane before that, and Cicily before it was anything else at all. And now, you’re Harmony, and the lights are bright downtown and you are so very far from home. Do you miss the sea? Do you miss the biting air and the feel of the salt embedding itself beneath your skin until you can’t tell the difference between it and your veins? Of course, you do. But most of all, you miss a good and proper meal.

Your name is Harmony, and you are dancing until your feet ache. You can’t remember the name of the club, just that the music is loud and you know the girls on stage. They smile back at you and for a moment, under the strobe light that matches the pounding in your head, you can nearly see the gills or the flash of a feather. And faintly, beneath the base and the shouting, you can hear them sing along.

Their name is Adah. They’re dancing alongside you, against you, everywhere. They grin and ask something you can’t quite hear over the music but you nod anyway. You can tell they’re the sort of folk that’s there most nights and they’ve coated their face in wonderful, pink glitter. They’re swaying and jumping along to the music perfectly in sync with the way it’s entranced them. It’s then that you know exactly what they’d asked for when you reach into your back pocket and slip out a little tab. It’s got something or another printed on it you don’t remember. It’s whatever they want it to be. They laugh and stick out their tongue when they see it and you shake your head, and you lead them to the bathroom. They skip behind you and keep a hand on your waist the whole way down. They don’t seem to notice how boney it’s become. 

You come out of the bathroom Adah-less and pleased. Your hunger is quenched for the time being, although you do feel awfully sorry for whoever wanders in there next. You let the tab sit on your own tongue, and then you’re off again, waiting for someone to get just this side of too close. You rather like it at the clubs and cabarets—easy pray and all, but it isn’t long before the inky black floods the streets and you decide that that’s much more their playground than yours.

And so, his name is Markus. He plays the guitar, albeit rather poorly, and he sings with confidence rather than skill. You found a flyer for his show on a telephone pole in the city, and you talked to him at the small merch stand afterward. Markus… Markus wants to be a star.

So, your name is Harmony and suddenly, you’re an agent.

He shakes your hand with a broad grin and babbles about how excited he is to be working with you. You invite him over to talk business and he agrees to Wednesday afternoon after his shift at a nearby sandwich shop. He doesn’t notice when you lick your lips in excitement. Days come and go, but nothing really matters but the approaching promise of company. Wednesday comes slowly like a watched pot, but still; there’s a knock at your door. He stands beaming and clutching a tattered guitar case, shifting feet before the porch while he goes on and on about his day and such. You aren’t really listening, 

“Enough chit-chat,” you tell him, “let’s get to it then.” So you clear your throat, and then you’re singing the sweetest song he’s ever heard. “All you have to do is sign right here and I can make all your dreams come true, Mr. Cunningham. I can put a good word in with the right people, I can get your name out there. Really, it won’t be long before everyone knows your name. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? 

“Aw, poor Markus, no one’s ever known your name, have they? Even your father called you champ when he forgot. Last picked in gym, always having to partner up with the teacher, or making a group of three with best friends that glare at you what you do a bulk of the project. Not anymore. They’ll be in the front row at your concert. Screaming your name. I can make you a God.”

That’s more than enough to get him inside, that lovely glazed look in his eye all the way up the steps. You’re on him before the door is even fully shut. Teeth meet flesh and tear like scissors through wrapping paper, the hope in his blood making it taste that much sweeter. Your wings unfold and lift you high enough to descend upon his face, gnawing it down to bone and relishing the way his tongue slides whole down your throat. After some short time, The bones of Markus Cunningham lay licked clean and dry on the floor of this months’ home. 

You really ought to stop making such a mess.

Your name is Harmony and this month, you’re a defense attorney. You’ve never been very good at arguing, but persuasion happens to be your specialty. Lace that sweet sing-song into your words and any jury will fall at your feet. And you’re paid quite well too. You like to pick up the tough cases, the real irredeemable scumbags. “I’ll get you off scott-free,” you tell them, “You know how many cases I’ve lost? None. Lower than anything, yeah? I do my job right well sir, you trust that.”

So this month’s name is Blake McFarlin, she held a family at gunpoint for some debt the father owed, money they didn’t have, and she shot the little one dead. All evidence points to her, she cleans up about as well as you do. The best part is, she doesn’t seem to think she did anything wrong. And, in no time, you’ve got the jury convinced of the very same. The judge lets her go with a couple years parole and she’s clinging to your arm, crying, thanking you. You smile at her, and you say “Of course, doll. Now say I buy you a drink, huh? To celebrate?” She nods into your sleeve and you take separate cars to a bar a few blocks over. You’ve got the photos of that poor little kid in the testimonies of her weeping parents in your head the whole way over. You’ve only just barely dragged her into the back alley before you’re ripping her apart. It feels… right. It feels just to get her that close to freedom and take it all away.  You hope that little girl knows this monster got what was coming to her. Her vocal cords are stuck between your teeth like floss before she can scream for help, her arms and mangled hands are waving frantically around for purchase, finding nothing but your bared, sharp shoulders and kicking at your legs long off the ground. You lick your lips clean and let her fall to the ground almost lifeless. You snap her legs, toothpicks between your taloned feet, and you leave her there to bleed the rest of the way out. She doesn’t deserve to go out clean and quick. 

Your name is Harmony. You sit in your office chair throne at the tippy-top of a many-leveled building that towers over the people that walk beneath it. Beneath you. It’s been an endless food chain of prophet and the profited, and you fancy yourself the apex predator. There’s not a thing in this world your money can’t buy. And yet, it’s never quite enough. Tear down these apartments, pave this forest, drain them all dry of pennies and dimes, and the blood on their bones. Sing them sweet on fortune and fame and toss them when you’re done gorging yourself on all they have to offer. It’s not quite the sea but, times change. And sometimes, for the better.

You aren’t sure of the last time you met hunger, but satisfaction begins to bore you. And you find that you so desperately crave the hunt. And so you tear that castle of exploit and exploited down to rubble from top to bottom and you set off to the next city, the next country, the next chorus, the next meal. 

Your name is Harmony, but it isn’t is it? No, your name is something pitchy that leaves a burn on the tongue of those unfortunate enough to speak it. But don’t let that stop you, you’re getting awful… hungry.

The end.

[FISH BREATHES HEAVILY IN HORROR, A DOOR OPENS]

LORRIE

Hey, uhhh, whatcha doin’ there Fishy?

FISH

[obviously horrified] Um… I, I, uh, I was just… Y'know, um, fucking around? [nervous laugh] I was just um, I dunno poking a little fun at you? Y’know, like a little sibling does, but, um, what the fuck is up with this story? I-is this a joke? I mean, it was marked in your book. I wanted to see what it was all about so I just kin—I just kinda read it? This is the shit you’ve been reading? The one I sat in for was, like, totally fine! But this? 

LORRIE

[guiltily] Uh, yeah. Yep, I—I know. Some of them are… really off-putting— 

FISH

[duh, but make it scared] Yeah.

LORRIE

That’s… That’s one of the reasons I, uh, I kicked you out the other day. I read all the stories before I record them just to like, get them in my head and get ready for them, and I knew that second one was weird? I didn’t want… you to have to listen to me read it. I kinda go into a, uh, like a uh, uh, a trance? Sort of? When I read.

[FISH SCOFFS QUIETLY]

FISH

[appalled] You… you don’t think it’s a little weird? That your children's audiobook company or whatever is sending you shit like this? What—what do you even know about them beyond the name on your paycheck? This is—this is fucked up!

LORRIE

[dismissive] Mhh, I-I mean they’re weird but that’s what they sent me! They just send me the story numbers for this month, y’know, and then I record them, send them off, and I get paid. I don’t particularly care what happens after that.

FISH

[angrily] Yeah. You get paid. Lorrie? Bubba? This story is basically some twisted, gory version of the truth of late-stage capitalism? The world? I dunno—this isn’t a fucking kids story is what it is. 

LORRIE

None of them really are! What else did you expect? Like, hell, The Devil’s Sooty Brother, does that sound like a kid’s story to you?

FISH

I-I dunno! It’s not this! I-I just, I thought you were reading, fuckin, Goldilocks, or something! Not, like… gore...dielocks? I just—Listen, I—this is giving me really bad vibes, like intensely bad. Like, horrible, money-grubbing, child-traumatizing vibes. There’s gotta be other jobs out there.

LORRIE

[a bit fed up] There are other jobs out there! I like this one! I don’t have to leave the house, or like, talk with anyone, and I get to hang out with our dog all day. The story contents don’t exactly bother me much.

Why do they bother you so much?

FISH

I… I dunno. I don’t usually get scared easily it’s just—it’s not right, bubs. It’s not fucking right. Something weird is going on here and you’re just ignoring it! What if you’re getting tangled up with something… I dunno something really, really bad? I don’t know what I would do if you… [Lorrie sighs]. You really don’t see anything wrong with this?

LORRIE

[struggling] I mean—I, I guess I do? I don’t fucking know! [frustrated noise] I need to record, Fish. I need some fucking peace and quiet. 

[FISH SCOFFS]

FISH

[angry disbelief] Yeah, fine. Whatever.

[FISH LEAVES THE ROOM, THERE IS A LONG TENSE SILENCE. LORRIE SIGHS]

LORRIE

[in denial] It’s fine. It’s fine! This—this isn’t that big of a deal. I’ll—[sigh] I’ll talk it out with her later, it’s fine. We always work out our little fights, I guess. Siblings fight all the time! It’s normal. Even if… you’re not related by blood.  [deep, steadying breath]

Take one of Rapunzel. [muttering] I need to find the page. [Another sigh, pages turning as Lorrie looks through the book]. Take one of Rapunzel. Read by Lorrie Ada--

[SCENE CUT]

LORRIE (CONT)

Take three—

[SCENE CUT]

LORRIE (CONT)

Take seven of Rapunzel. Read by Lorrie Adams.

LORRIE (STORY)

Once upon a time, there was a husband and wife who, for some time, had been wishing in vain for a child. Finally, the dear Lord gave them a sign of hope that their wish would be fulfilled. Now, in the back of their house, the couple had a small window that overlooked a splendid garden filled with the most beautiful flowers and herbs. The garden, however, was surrounded by a high wall and nobody dared enter it because it belonged to a sorceress who was very powerful, and feared by all. One day when the wife was standing at the window and looking down into the garden, she noticed a bed of the finest Rapunzel lettuce; the lettuce looked so fresh and green that her mouth watered and she had a great craving to eat some. Day by day this crazing increased and since she knew she could not get any, she began to waste away and look pale and miserable. Her husband became alarmed and asked, “What’s wrong with you dear wife?”

“Ah,” she responded, “I shall certainly die if I don’t get any of that Rapunzel from that garden behind our house.” Her husband, who loved her, thought ‘before I let my wife die I’ll do anything I must to make sure she gets some Rapunzel.’

That day at dusk, he climbed over the wall and into the garden of the sorceress, hastily grabbed a handful of Rapunzel, and brought them to his wife. Immediately, she made them into a salad with great zest, but the Rapunzel tasted so good to her, so very good, that her desire for them was three times greater the next day. If she were to have any peace, her husband knew he had to climb into the garden once more. So at dusk, he scaled the wall again, and just as he landed on the other side he was given a tremendous scare, for he stood face to face with the sorceress.

“How dare you climb into my garden and steal my Rapunzel like a thief!” She said with an angry look. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Oh,” he cried, “Please let mercy prevail over justice. I did this only because I was in a predicament, my wife noticed your Rapunzel from our window and she developed such a great craving for it that she would have died if I hadn’t brought her some to eat.”  Upon hearing that, the anger of the sorceress subsided, and she said to him; “If it is truly as you say, I shall permit you to take as many Rapunzel as you’d like, but only under one condition. When your wife gives birth I must have the child. You needn’t fear about the child’s wellbeing, for I will take care of it like a mother.” In his fear, the man agreed to everything, and when his wife had the baby his sorceress appeared at once. She gave the child the name Rapunzel and took her away.

Rapunzel grew to be the most beautiful child under the sun, but when she was twelve years old the sorceress locked her in a tower in a forest. It had neither door nor stairs, only a little window high above. Whenever the sorceress wanted to get in, she would stand below and call out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair for me.” Rapunzel’s hair was long and radiant, as fine as spun gold. Every time she heard the voice of the sorceress, she unpinned her braids and wound them around a hook on the window. Then she let her hair drop twenty yards and the sorceress would climb up on it.  A few years later, a king’s son happened to be riding through the forest and passed by the tower. Suddenly, he heard a song so lovely that he stopped to listen. It was Rapunzel, who passed the time in her solitude by letting her sweet voice resound in the forest. The prince wanted to climb up to her, and he looked for a door but could not find one. So he rode home. However, the song had touched his heart so deeply that he rode out into the forest every day and listened. One time as he was standing behind a tree, he saw the sorceress approach and heard her call out;

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Then Rapunzel let down her braids and the sorceress climbed up to her.

“If that is the ladder that one needs to get up there, then I am also going to try my luck,” the prince declared. The next day as it began to get dark, he went to the tower and called out “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” All at once, the hair dropped down and the prince climbed up. When he entered the tower, Rapunzel was at first terribly afraid for she had never laid eyes on a man before. However, the prince began to talk to her in a friendly way and told her that her song had touched his heart so deeply, that he had not been able to rest until he had seen her. Rapunzel then lost her fear and when he asked her whether she’d have him for her husband, she saw that he was young and handsome. She thought, ‘he’ll certainly love me better than old Mother Gothel’. So she said yes and placed her hand in his. 

“I want to go down with you very much,” she said, “but I don’t know how I can get down. Every time you come you must bring a skein of silk with you and I’ll weave it into a ladder. When it’s finished, then I’ll climb down and you can take me away on your horse.” They agreed that until then, he would come to her every evening, for the old woman came during the day. Meanwhile, the sorceress did not notice anything until one day, Rapunzel blurted out; “Mother Gothel, how is it that you’re much heavier than the prince? When I pull him up, he’s here in a second.”

“Ah, you godless child,” exclaimed the sorceress, “What’s this I hear? I thought I had made sure that you had no contact with the outside world, but you’ve deceived me.” In her fury, she seized Rapunzel’s beautiful hair and wrapped it around her left-hand several times, grabbed a pair of scissors with her right hand, and snip! Snap! The hair was cut off and the beautiful braids lay on the ground. Then, the cruel sorceress took Rapunzel to a desolate land where she had to live in the great misery and grief. On the same day she banished Rapunzel, the sorceress fastened the braids that she had cut off to the hook in the window, and that evening when the prince came and called out “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” she let the hair down. The prince climbed up, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel on top, he found the sorceress who gave him vicious and angry looks.

“Aha!” She exclaimed with contempt, “You want to fetch your darling wife, but the beautiful bird is no longer sitting in the nest and she won’t be singing anymore. The cat has got her, and it will also scratch out your eyes. Rapunzel is lost to you and you will never see her again!” The prince was beside himself with grief and in his despair, he jumped off the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns he fell into pierced his eyes and so he became blind. Now he strayed about in the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did nothing but mourn and weep about the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he wandered for many years in misery, eventually, he made his way to the desolate land where Rapunzel was leading a wretched existence with the twins, a boy and a girl to whom she had given birth. And when he heard a voice that he thought sounded familiar, he went straight towards it and when he reached her, Rapunzel recognized him. She embraced him and wept, and as two of her tears dropped onto his eyes, they became clear and he could see again. Then, he escorted her back to his kingdom, where he was received with joy and they lived happily and contentedly for a long time thereafter.

LORRIE

This one… wasn’t so bad. I mean, like, it’s still got gory bits, unfortunately, but it’s not nearly as bad as the last one. The one that Fish read, I mean.

[slowly spiraling] I don’t like fighting with her. It makes both of us feel bad and then, then, th-then shit is weird between us for like, days and it sucks feeling like I can’t talk to her. Because she’s the most important person in my life. Thank god we don’t fight that often. [sigh] But this fight seemed… different. I don’t know what she’s thinking is so wrong with the stories! They’re just, they’re jus—They’re just stories! There’s not really any issues, right? I—It’s just a book! Doesn’t matter that it was on the other side of the office this morning when I came in to set up. Fish probably came in and like, browsed through it last night. Probably just wanted some light reading material.

[Sadly] I really should go talk to her. I’m gonna go talk to her.

End recording.

[CLOSING MUSIC]

[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 4 TRANSCRIPT

[OPENING MUSIC]

LORRIE

Fish is here today; gonna sit in while I read to make sure I’m like... drinking water and stuff? [a bit distantly] Say hi to the mic!

[FISH LAUGHS]

FISH

Huh? Oh--uh, hi! Um, I’m just kinda here to listen--if I’m paying attention. I’m probably going to be on my phone for most of it. But, um, if I do, I will provide some glowing commentary.

LORRIE

Ah yes, the noises of disgust and fear will be a lovely addition to the audiobook.

FISH

Well I mean, they’re, like, fairy tales, right? So, hopefully, there won’t be too much disgust if yo--Well okay I guess some of them are, like, pretty dark. But,[Lorrie snorts in the background] um, if I do have any gripes with it, it will provide a much-needed change of pace from whatever monotony this usually is.

LORRIE

Okay, well, rude, for one. And for two-- take one of “The Devil's Sooty Brother”, read by Lorrie Adams.

[SCENE CUT FOLLOWED BY FISH LAUGHING]

LORRIE (CONT)

[fond annoyance] Shut the fuck up. Shut up! Stop laughing!

FISH

[still laughing] I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just--We’re on the fourth take and you keep messing up the same two words! I’m getting kinda concerned for you.

LORRIE

[splutters] Clearly you don’t appreciate that I’m dyslexic! It’s a--it’s a process! 

FISH

Right, okay, sorry.

LORRIE

Take three of-- 

[SCENE CUT]

FISH

Mhm.

LORRIE

Fuck it--last take for the night. [Fish laughs] No--no! You stop that! You’re not helping with this process! Is there a specific reason you had to say that the devil’s brother was actually slutty and not sooty?

FISH

Well yeah because it sounded like you said “the devil’s slutty brother” which is like--objectively hilarious? And much better; so I think, legally, they need to change it.

LORRIE

[through giggles] Y'know what? Fuck it! This story is now called “The Devil’s Slutty Brother”. Literally everything else is the same, save for that one word.

FISH

UH, well how, uh, how much is the publishing company going to enjoy that? Are these for kids?

[LORRIE CUTS HER OFF WITH A GROAN]

LORRIE

I don’t, I don’t fucking know! But-- [sound of annoyance]. Take twelve of “The Devil’s Slutty Brother”, read by Lorrie Adams.

FISH

[through a laugh] Hey kids! [Lorrie begins to laugh] This is “The Devil’s Slutty Brother” Hope you like--hope you like it! Uh, fucking, Billie.

[LORRIE SHUSHES HER]

LORRIE

A discharged soldier—

FISH

[Cutting Lorrie off] After this we can throw the pigskin around!

LORRIE

Shut up!

FISH

Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Okay, okay, go.

LORRIE (STORY)

A discharged soldier had nothing to live on and no longer knew what to do with his life.-

FISH

[in the background] Kin.

LORRIE (STORY)

-so he went out into the forest and after walking for a while, he met a little man who was actually the devil himself.

FISH

Most little men that I meet are actually the devil.

LORRIE

[through giggles] Not Danny DeVito!

FISH

Oh--I love Danny DeVito!

LORRIE (STORY)

I—[splutters]. “What’s the matter?” The little man said to him, “You look so gloomy.” “I’m hungry and have no money,” said the soldier. If you’re ho- 

FISH

I really do kin this man. This man is me. This--This is a story about me. I am the devil’s slutty brother.

[BOTH LAUGH]

LORRIE (STORY)

[groans, but is amused] If you hire-

FISH

Maybe the real slutty brother was the friends we made along the way!

[BOTH LAUGH AGAIN]

LORRIE

Let me read the story! I’ve gotten like two paragraphs in!

FISH

I’m sorry, I’m sorry! But my commentary is just that good! I’m enhancing the experience! Whoever you send this to I am so sorry, get well soon.

LORRIE (STORY)

“If you hire yourself out to me and will be my servant,” The devil said, “You’ll have enough for the rest of your life but you’ve got to serve me for seven years, and after that, you will be free. There is just one other thing I’ve got to tell you. You’re not allowed to wash yourself, comb your hair, trim your beard, cut your nails or hair, or wipe your eyes”

LORRIE

That’s kinda gross.

FISH

Wha--wipe your eye--isn’t that when you get those fuckin little like crusty thi--oh no! How many, how many--seven years?

LORRIE

Seven years.-

FISH

Ew.

LORRIE

-In hell. Not even allowed to wipe the fuckin eye boogies out of his eyes.

FISH

I don’t that at-oh, ew--I don’t like that you call them eye boogies. Take that back right now. [lorrie laughs] Never speak to me again!

LORRIE (STORY)

“If that’s the way it must be then lets get on with it.” The soldier said and he went away with the little man, who led him straight to hell and told him what his chores were. He was to tend to the fires under the kettles in which the damned souls were sitting, sweep the house clean and carry the first out the door, and keep everything in order. However, he was never to peek into the kettles or things would go badly for him.

“I understand,” said the soldier. “I’ll take good care of everything.” So the old devil set out on his travels and the soldier began his duty. He put fuel in the fire, swept and carried the dirt out the door, and did everything just as he was ordered. When the old devil returned, he checked to see if everything had been done according to his instruction, nodded his approval, and went off again.

Now, for the first time, the soldier took a good look around hell. There were kettles all about and they were boiling and bubbling with tremendous fires underneath each one of them. He woul—

FISH

Can I make an educated guess; a prediction if you will. A hypothesis.

LORRIE

Go--go for it

FISH

He’s definitely gonna look in those pots. Is he gonna drink them? I don’t know what's in there but I hope he takes a--

LORRIE

[overlapping] I hope not! That sounds nasty!

FISH

Hope he takes a good long sip of whateher the fuck is in there [lorrie laughs quietlty] Maybe it’s like, um... I don’t think we’re allowed to mention Disney properties, nevermind [they laugh]

[LORRIE GROANS]

FISH (CONT)

I don’t wanna get sued.

LORRIE

Me neither!

LORRIE (STORY)

He would have given his life to know what was in them if the devil had not strictly forbidden it. Finally, he could no longer restrain himself; he lifted the lid of the first kettle a little and looked inside only to see his old sergeant-

[FISH GASPS]

FISH

[overlapping] I’m a genius!

LORRIE (STORY)

[are you done yet?] -sitting there.

LORRIE

It was— it was an obvious—

FISH

[overlapping] wait, what's sitting there?

LORRIE

-set up. It was an obvious set up.

FISH

yeah , yeah but--okay, shut up. I’m, no, I’m just smart. No, oh my god I’m like the children-

LORRIE

[overlapping] Okay, yes you’re a genius.

FISH

I’m like the children on Dora.

[LORRIE LAUGHS AND SHUSHES FISH]

LORRIE (STORY)

[triumphant] “Aha, you crumb!”

[FISH LAUGHS IN THE BACKGROUND]

LORRIE

[appalled] Wh-what the fuck does that mean?

FISH

[just as appalled] you what?? Wait, okay--what was in the pot?

LORRIE

Um, his old sergeant was sitting in the pot.

FISH

Oh, right, he’s a--he’s a soldier

LORRIE

He’s a soldier.

FISH

Okay th—

LORRIE (STORY)

[overlapping] Aha yo—

FISH

Is that an insult?

LORRIE

I... assume so? Given the context.

FISH

[overlapping] Wait, okay, hold up. Gimme a second I’m gonna look it up. You can keep reading. I'm just gonna interrupt and tell you what that means.

LORRIE (STORY)

“Aha, you crumb!” He said. “Fancy meeting you here. You used to step on me, but now I’ve got you under my foot.” He let the lid drop quickly, stirred the fire, and added fresh wood. After that, he moved to the second kettle, lifted the lid a little and peeked inside. There sat his lieutenant. “Aha you crumb!”

LORRIE

Why does he keep saying this?

FISH

Okay, ummmm, [lorrie hms] Apparently it means ‘a worthless person’

LORRIE

Oh.

FISH

Ouch.

LORRIE

Nasty.

FISH

Damn. He went for the throat on that one.

LORRIE (STORY)

[overlapping] “Aha you crumb times two!” He said, “Fancy meeting you here. You used to step on me but now I’ve got you under my foot.” He shut the lid again and added a little more log to the fire to make it really good and hot for him.

Now he wanted to see who was sitting in the third kettle, and it turned out to be his General.

LORRIE

Did these people just not treat him well? Jesus fuck.

FISH

[contemplative] I mean... I gue--well. [Lorrie snorts] Do you think that all sol--okay nevermind this isn’t gonna be a conversation we’re gonna have right now!

LORRIE

No, no, not right now.

FISH

I was like, that’s gonna get really dark. [she laughs]

LORRIE

Mmh, no!

LORRIE (STORY)

“Aha you crumb, times three! Fancy meeting you here, You used to step on me--step on me, but now I’ve got you under my foot.” He got out of bellows and pumped it until the fires of hell was blazing hot under him.

And so it was that he served out his seven years in hell. He never washed, comped himself, trimmed his beard, cut his nails or wiped his eyes. The seven years passed so quickly that he was convinced that only six months had gone by. When his time was completely up, the devil said; “Well Hans, what have you been doing all this time?”

“I’ve tended the fires under the kettles, and I’ve swept and carried the dirt out the door.”

“But you also peeked into the kettles. Well, you’re just lucky you added more wood into the fire because otherwise you would have forgot--forfeited your life.

LORRIE

Wow.

FISH

Oh, woah there.

LORRIE (STORY)

“Now, your time is up. Do you want to go back home?”

“Yes,” said the soldier, “I’d like to see how my father’s doing at home.”

“Alright, if you want your pro— [background noise]

LORRIE

[bewildered] Hello??

LORRIE (STORY)

“Alright, if you want to get your proper reward, you must go and fill your knapsack with the dirt you swept up and take it home with you; and you must also go unwashed and uncombed with long hair on your head and a long beard with uncut nails and with bleary eyes. And if anyone asks you where you’re coming from, you’ve got to say from hell. And if anyone asks—

FISH

[overlapping] He’s gotta smell like shit and look like Merlin.

LORRIE

Probably, after seven years? Like--fuck.

FISH

[overlapping] Yeah. [much quieter] Ew.

LORRIE (STORY)

“And if anyone asks where you’re coming from you’ve got to say from hell. And if anyone asks who you are, say ‘I am the devil’s slutty brother and my king is well.’ 

[FISH LAUGHS IN THE BACKGROUND, LORRIE LAUGHS SLIGHTLY AS HE CONTINUES]

LORRIE (STORY, CONT)

The soldier said nothing. Indeed, he carried out the devil’s instructions but he was not at all satisfied with the reward. As soon as he was out in the forest again, he took the knapsack and wanted to shake it out, but when he opened it he discovered that the dirt had turned into pure gold.

“Never in my life would I have imagined that,” said the soldier, who was delighted and went into the city. An in keeper wa—

FISH

[overlapping] wasn’t it like, um, [Lorrie hmms] to make--to make diamonds, don’t they compress like... some kinda rock or some shit?

LORRIE

I think it’s coal. I think they compress co--that might not be right.

FISH

So like... same dif, but with dirt an--nevermind, that's not how that works.

LORRIE

[decisively] Okay.

LORRIE (STORY)

An innkeeper was standing in front of his inn as Hans approached, and when he caught sight of Hans, the innkeeper was terrified because the soldier looked so dreadful, even more frightening than a scarecrow.

LORRIE

Scarecrows aren’t scary.

FISH

[in the background] I like scarecrows!

LORRIE

It’s not hard to be scarier than a scarecrow.

FISH

They’re friend shaped!

LORRIE

They are friend shaped--

FISH

[overlapping] I wanna give 'em a lil smooch.

LORRIE

[overlapping]--I agree.

LORRIE (STORY He called out to him and asked; “where are you coming from?”

“From hell!

“Who are you?”

“The devil’s slutty brother, and my king is well.” [Fish laughs] The innkeep did not want to let him inside, but when Hans showed him the gold he went and unlatched the door himself. Then hans ordered his—the best room and insisted on the finest service. He ate and drank his fill— 

FISH

[chanting] I hate capitalists, I hate capitalists, I hate capitalists, I hate capitalists—

LORRIE

[amused] I—I know, I know. I know. I do too, it’s fine.

FISH

Consume the rich! Vore the rich!

LORRIE (STORY)

He ate and drank his fill, but did not wash or comb himself as the devil had instructed. Finally, he lay down to sleep but the innkeeper could not get the knapsack of gold out of his mind. Just the thought of it left him no peace. So, he crept into the room during the night and stole it. So when Hans got up—

FISH (BACKGROUND)

What a dick move.

LORRIE (STORY)

the next morning and went to pay the innkeeper before leaving, his knapsack was gone! [Lorrie and Fish both gasp loudly] However, he wasted no words and thought ‘it’s not your fault that this happened’, and he turned straight around and went straight back to hell, where he complained about his misfortune to the devil and asked for help.

“Sit down,” Said the devil, “I’m going to wash and comb you, trim your beard, cut your hair and nails and wash out your eyes.”

FISH

I was gonna say, really bold of him to complain about misfortune to Lucifer, but… [Lorrie begins to laugh in the background] He’s kinda a chill guy! It seems like he’s just vibin!

LORRIE

[overlapping] Uh, yeah he seems kinda cool!

FISH

He’s like “yeah, yeah I’ll give you money if you just, like, do some chores.” He’s basically my mom! [Lorrie snorts] And then he just gives him a little bath! Maybe they’re in love.

LORRIE

Yeah!

FISH

Oh—wait, no, they’re brothers. Is that incest? I mean I know they’re not like actually related but he calls himself his brother so question mark?

LORRIE

Okay, okay, we’re not going down this road. 

FISH

[through giggles] I’m sorry!

LORRIE (STORY)

When he was finished with the soldier he gave him a knapsack full of dirt and said ; “Go there and tell the innkeeper to give you back your gold, otherwise I will come and fetch him, and he’ll have to tend the fires in your place.”

Hans went back up and said to the innkeeper “You stole my money, and if you don’t give it back you’ll go to hell in my place and look just as awful as I did.” The innkeeper gave him back the money and even more besides, then he begged him to be quiet about what had happened. 

Now Hans was a rich man and set out on his way home, he bought himself a pair of rough linen overalls and wandered here and there playing music, for he had learned that from the Devil in hell. 

LORRIE

Dude—Lucifer is just fucking vibing.

FISH

Yeah I’m really—I would maybe sign up to have- to be the devil's servant. He could give me some money and teach me how to play the fiddle, then I could go compete with a man in Georgia… [Lorrie snorts] And, I mean, all I would really have to deal with is looking like shit for a little bit but I already don’t take showers so it's fine!

LORRIE

We get it, you’re depressed. 

FISH

[Through giggles] Shut up! Shut up!!

LORRIE (STORY)

Once he happened to play for an old king in a certain country and the king was so pleased that he promised Hans his oldest daughter’s hand in marriage. However, When he he—when she heard that she was supposed to marry a commoner in white overalls, she said “I’ll go drown myself in the deepest lake before I do that.” So the king gave Hans—

FISH

[overlapping] Nevermind, I kin this woman.

LORRIE (STORY)

[slowly and deliberately] His youngest daughter [A short pause followed by laughter] Who was willing to marry him out of love for her father.

FISH

[overlapping] Me too. I would rather drown myself than marry a man! Me too, queen!

[LORRIE AND FISH BOTH LAUGH]

LORRIE

Y’know what? That’s completely fair.

FISH

Yeah!

LORRIE (STORY)

So the devil’s slutty brother got the king's daughter, and when the old king died, he got the whole kingdom as well. [book page turns] 

LORRIE

And that’s… the end of that.

FISH

That's the end? 

LORRIE

That’s the—I guess he got a happy ending. Good for him.

FISH

I was expecting that to end in some kind of, like, horrifically karmic… I don’t know what the next word in that sentence was gonna be, but it was gonna be something. Um—

LORRIE

[overlapping] Retribution? 

FISH

Retribution! There’s the word, thank you. 

LORRIE

Yeah, of course.

FISH

Um, but—yeah! Honestly the devil just seems like a chill guy, I’m kinda down with him. Maybe he deserves rights. Also, since the beginning of this, like our commentary at the start of it I have been imagining him as Danny DeVito. So, [Lorrie laughs] I think that impacted how much I liked him.

LORRIE

Lucifer is now Danny DeVito. But, I am going to have to re-record this properly again later! But, y’know, this was really fun, I… I wanna do this more.

FISH

Awe! Sap.

LORRIE

[splutters] Sh-Shut up! I do need to read one more story today, so shoo Fishy! I need a proper recording space to get into the zone for it.

FISH

[playful mocking] oooohh… the zone.

LORRIE

[long-suffering sigh] sush! 

FISH

Fucking lame, you’re such a dork. Okay, um, I mean I was having a good time.

LORRIE

Shoo, shoo, be gone, thot. 

[FISH SCOFFS]

FISH

I’m not the devil’s brother. [Lorrie snorts] Okay, um, I will see you later, have fun.

LORRIE

Love you, bye.

FISH

Yeah, whatever.

LORRIE

[more tired sounding than before] Alright, [he clears his throat] This next story is [pages turning] where the fuck is it? [more page turning] A Tale of Parch and Flesh, take one-

[SCENE CUT]

Take six, A Tale of Parch and Flesh-

LORRIE (STORY)

Once upon a time, in a world of dust and nothing, there was war. Where once there had been great kingdoms, stood tall and proud with their many flags and castles, you will find  a wasteland should you be unlucky enough to stumble upon it. It is all unforgiving heat and torrential downpours of dirt and waste, spurred on by humid wind. In this nuclear nation of ours, where we few left, are worth nothing more than the roaches that flood the streets. In the distance, rusted trumpets can be heard going through the notes of a tired battle cry, footsteps to the beat of angry drums and a choir of shots and shouts for as long as they stay distant anyway.

There are bodies strewn across this desert floor, almost fit to cover the sand completely. Those who brave going outside to step around, and between the stiffs on tiptoes, perhaps for fear that one might reach out and grab them. Or that they might join that carpet of corpses and rot. But folks like us? We stay inside, we fiddle with the buttons on the radio, sorting through static for the couple of stations left. One plays music we are too young to recognize, and the other queues up to our king. He is old, and greying, and tired; in a tower that hardly stands, and he is speaking into a busted microphone.

“It’s alright,” He tells us, “There is nothing to worry about.” 

He says that war is just a word the enemy has invented to threaten us, that our kingdom will, of course, prevail. That he has sent his army out to protect us, that they are fighting nobly for a just cause. Those who would have known that cause by name died out long before you and I. There is no justice here. There is nothing but gore and the endless marching of mindless flesh. The dust fills our lungs, but can not state our stomachs, so we feed on roach and rodent, and each other as I’ve heard on occasion. Mothers pat their weeping children’s heads, hushing them through the thunder of bombs and anguished screams.

“It’s alright,” they say, “There is nothing to worry about.”

What a curse, I think, to bring a child into a place like this. One where they will know nothing but a desolate world full of desperate people. Now picture with me, reader, that you are on the front lines; you can feel the sun baking you through, can nearly feel your blood boiling beneath it. This is not what you signed up for. Your uniform is heavy and hot, and you can not tell if what cakes your face is paint, dirt, or the blood of the men you’ve gunned down. Your eyes are just as heavy, if not more, for you have not met sleep. You crawl, and you hide, and you cower. And you stay so quiet you sometimes forget to breathe, because maybe if you make yourself silent—make yourself small enough—you will simply cease to be. You are granted no such mercy.

When it is not hot, it is colder than anything, and you feel it in the core of you. From your weary feet to the unkempt hair under your helmet, you look around for solidarity from the soldiers at your side, but they stare ahead and do not blink and say nothing, like memorial statues in the making. You can’t recall if you’ve ever heard anything from them but cries to move, move, move. In fact, you can’t even remember their names, but you suppose you’ll read them on the plaques

You stare at the fox hole massive route and rock in front of you and watch the growing hive of bugs in and in and in, and not come back out. Your leader parrots the words of your king; you are fighting a just cause, you are doing what needs to be done. There are people to defend and a nation to make a name for. Those who stare down the barrel of your gun are not men, but beasts who must be tamed or put down. But you looked him in the eye when you shot, and he looked just like you. So,” I’m sorry,” you say, but only one of you can make it out of this place and you’ve been here too long for it to not be you. 

And that's what you don’t know; that there is no out. There is hardly a before, and there will not be an after. All your feet know is how to step into line, your helmet has become a shell, whatever is packed on your face has dug its way into your pores beneath your skin and has made a home there. The medals and pins on your chest seem to pierce straight through your skin, and the dirt and dust in your lungs belongs there just as much as your blood and bone. Have your ears ever known not to ring? Have you ever spoken and felt your throat not to be hoarse? Are you any less a beast than those which you end? 

But you are not on the front lines, are you? No. And you are nut huddled with me behind a rusted door, or letting your shaking mother smother your fries with false reassurances. You are safe in bed, perhaps driving to work, sitting at your desk finishing your dinner.  But you have been brought into a desolate world full of desperate people, and it is not alright. 

The end.

LORRIE

[struggling to find the right words] That was… unsettling. These stories just seem to get more and more and more unsettling as time goes on! Not to mention the headaches I’ve been getting while reading them. Like—what kind of story would be giving you a migraine! They’re all different stories, y’know, so it’s just a matter of—I dunno. Maybe my eyes are just getting tired or something. Maybe I’m getting sick too. Fish and I have both been feeling under the weather.

But… I think I should invest in some reading glasses. End recording.

[CLOSING MUSIC]

[antecedentlypod]

Just started listening to the podcast! The stories about the farmer, and the twelve brothers are just 👌👌👌 So excited to hear the next eps!

were glad you enjoy it!! ‘the farmer and the warbler’ is one of my favorites, too :3

- crow

[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 3 TRANSCRIPT

-opening music-

LORRIE

Alright- [soft movement sounds] recording time. Reeecording time. One, two, three. [flip through the book, door opens]

Ah- fuck-

FISH

Oh! Shit- sorry- were you in the middle of something? Uh...sorry. I made lunch. Bahn mi! Y’know, the one I begged my brother for the recipe of? Uh- do you want some? I mean, I can’t guarantee it’s gonna be great ‘cause...it’s me...but it is getting cold! So...

LORRIE

I was just about to start recording, but lunch sounds...awesome, actually! But before we go, do you want to introduce yourself to the mic? I decided I wanted to keep the extra recordings and stuff, just for… me, I guess? Like- kinda like a journal. [brief pause]

My therapist did recommend I start journaling, but writing out my thoughts is hard as fuck. Talking into a microphone is much easier.

FISH

Oh. Okay, so just like...lamer scrapbooking- Yeah! Yeah, I guess. [taps the mic] uh. Check check? ...Right, okay. So, my name is Fish. Just- just Fish. I picked it out myself, actually, ‘cus i really like fish? Y’know? Uh, stonefish specifically but...I think sharks are really cool- are sharks fish? Anyway! [drifting off] I like she/her or they/them pronouns...um...that’s about it. Anyway, I’m here to make sure that Mr. Skeptic over here isn’t going haywire, given all the bullshit I’ve been hearing recently.

LORRIE

[soft laugh] That’s...enough, that’s good. Maybe I should do one of those myself. [pause, deep breath] Okay, uh. Hi, I’m Lorrie. I also picked that name out, sounds like a bird name. There is a bird named Lorrie, but it’s spelled differently. And it’s really colorful, which is the opposite of me! Um, I mainly use he/him or it/its pronouns, they/them is okay sometimes, but it’s best to stay away from it? And I’m not going haywire! Things are just… a little bit weird. It’s probably just hallucinations, it’s nothing.

FISH

A little bit? With all- [sigh, in a sarcastic tone] Okay, fine. Reaaaal convincing. Yeah! Believe that, 100%. ‘Kay, anyway... [laughter]

LORRIE

[sigh] Listen- just. Just shut the fuck up. [more laughter] I’m excited for lunch, though, I don’t remember the last time I ate, actually-

FISH

That’s...not ideal, but kind of the point. So...oh! Well, hopefully you ate before getting that tattoo, did uh- it looks...new. When did you…? [sigh] Okay. What’s with the eyes?

LORRIE

I think they’re cool. I got the tattoo a couple days ago, I’m pretty sure I got something to eat before it? Not a big deal.

FISH

[pause, dumbfounded and concerned] A couple days? Okay, holy shit, Lor. Let’s go get something to eat, okay? Lunch is getting cold, so.

LORRIE

Y-Yeah, that sounds good. Let me ju-just- [muffled movement, recording stops]

LORRIE

Aaaand we’re back. Lunch has been eaten, I feel- a lot better, honestly, and I think it’s a good time to record? [papers rustling] Um...where…? [collects himself] Uh, Fish left for work a little bit ago, which means the only idiot in the house with me is my dog! I’ll be able to work now, I think. Even if reading it makes me feel all- fuckin’ weird. It’s not a- not a great feeling. Not a great feeling at all. Fuck. Okay. Um. Take one of Rumpels-

[cut]

[weary] Take...five? I think? Of Rumpelstiltskin.

[cut]

Take nine of Rumplestiltskin. Read by Lorrie Adams.

RUMPELSTILTSKIN

Once upon a time, there was a miller who was poor, but he had a beautiful daughter. Now it happened that he was talking with the king one time, and to make himself seem important he said to the king: "I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold."

"That's an art that pleases me;” the king replied, “if your daughter is as talented as you say, bring her to my castle tomorrow and I will put her to the test." 

When the maiden was brought to him he led her into a room that was filled with straw. There he gave her a spinning-wheel and a spindle and said: "Now get to work, if you don’t spin straw into gold by morning, then you must die." Then he locked the room himself, and she remained inside all alone.

 The miller's poor daughter sat there feeling close to her wit’s end, for she knew nothing of spinning straw into gold, and her fear grew greater and greater. When she began to weep, the door suddenly opened and a little man entered, saying: "Good evening, Mistress Miller, why are you weeping so?" 

“Oh,” answered the maiden, "I'm supposed to spin straw into gold, and I don't know how." 

The little man then said: "What will you give me if I spin it for you?" 

"My necklace," the maiden said. The little man took the necklace and sat down at the wheel, and whizz, whizz, whizz, three times round the spool was full. Then he put on another one, and whizz, whizz, whizz, the second one was full; and so it went on until morning, until all the straw was spun and all the spools were filled with gold. The king appeared right at the sunrise and when he saw the gold he was surprised and pleased, but his heart grew even greedier. He locked the miller’s daughter in another room, one that was even larger than the first, and he ordered her to spin all the straw into gold if she valued her life.

The maiden did not know what to do and began to weep; then once again the door opened and the little man appeared and said: "What will you give me if I spin the straw into gold for you?" 

"The ring from my finger," answered the maiden. The little man took the ring, began to work away at the wheel again, and by morning he had spun all the straw into shining gold. The king was extremely pleased by the sight; but his lust for gold was still not satisfied. So he had the miller's daughter brought into an even larger room, and said to her: "You must have all this spun to gold tonight, but if you succeed, you shall become my wife." To himself he thought: Even though she’s just a miller's daughter, I’ll never find a richer woman anywhere in the world. 

When the maiden was alone the little man came again for the third time and asked: "What will you give me if I spin the straw for you once more?" 

"I have nothing left to give," answered the maiden. 

"Then promise me your first child when you become queen." 

"Who knows whether it will ever come to that?" thought the miller's daughter, and since she knew no other way out of her predicament, she promised the little man what he had demanded, and in return the little man spun the straw into gold once again. When the king came in the morning and found everything he had wished, he married her, and the miller's daughter became a queen.

After a year she gave birth to a beautiful child, and the little man had disappeared from her mind. But now he suddenly appeared in her room and said: "Now give me what you promised." The queen was horrified, and offered the little man all the treasures of the kingdom if he would let her keep her child. But the little man replied: "No, something living is more important to me than all the treasures in the world." Then the queen began to grieve and weep so much that the little man felt sorry for her. "I'll give you three days time," he said, "if you guess my name by the third day, you shall keep your child."

The queen spent the entire night trying to recall all the names she had ever heard. She also sent a messenger out into the country to inquire high and low names there were. On the following day when the little man appeared, she began with Kaspar, Melchior, Balzar, and listed all the names she knew, one after the other, but to all of them the little man said: "That's not my name." The second day she had her servants ask around in the neighboring area which names people used, and she came up with the most unusual and strangest names when the little man appeared. "Is your name Ribs of Beef? Or Muttonchops? Or Laced Leg?" But he always replied: “That’s not my name.” On the third day the messenger returned and reported, "I couldn't find a single new name, but as I was climbing a high mountain at the edge of the forest, where the fox and the hare say goodnight to each other, I saw a small cottage, and in front of the cottage was a fire, and around the fire danced a ridiculous little man who was hopping on one leg and screeching:

“Today I'll brew, tomorrow I'll bake,

Soon I'll have the queen's namesake;

Oh, how hard it is to play my game,

For Rumpelstiltskin is my name."

And you can imagine how happy the queen was when she heard the name. As soon as the little man entered and asked: “What’s my name, your highness?” 

She responded first by guessing: "Is your name Cunce?" "No." "Is your name Heinz?" "No." "Can your name be...Rumpelstiltskin?"

"The devil told you! the devil told you!" the little man screamed, and he stamped so ferociously with his right foot that his leg went deep into the ground up to his waist. Then he grabbed the other foot angrily with both hands and ripped himself in two.

LORRIE

[yawn] There’s another number for me to read. [stuttering] Another story. I didn’t- say this in my personal introduction, but I’m [trying to snap himself out of it. literally] working for like, something akin to an audiobook company? These are my- story recordings. Not perfect, by any means, but they’re alright enough, and not really ever my final takes. Um. I like this job. Fully remote, surprisingly good pay for it being paid by commission mostly- I don’t know...why people would want these stories read out, but that’s beside the point. I make enough to get a pretty nice apartment, for me and Fish. They sent me this collection of stories to read from, it’s in this [stuttering and snapping again] big book- this big paperback book, um, and they...they- I get emails with the story numbers that they want me to read? Because they’re all numbered in this book. And the stories are never more than a couple pages at a time, which...is kinda weird because the recordings end up being pretty short that way? I don’t know if they want...more from me for it, but that’s also beside the point.

Anyways. Take 1 of Briar Rose, read by Lorrie Ada-

[very tired] Take 3 of Briar Ro-

Ppppbbbt. [hyping himself up] Okay. Okay, you can do this, Lorrie. It’s not that hard, you’re just talking into a fucking microphone. Okay. Okay. Hm. [drinks something. water..?] Take 13 of Briar Rose, read by Lorrie Adams. 

BRIAR ROSE

In times of old there lived a king and queen, and every day they said, "Oh, if only we had a child!" yet they never had one.

Then one day, as the queen went out bathing, a frog happened to crawl ashore and say to her: “Your wish shall be fulfilled. Before the year is out, you shall give birth to a daughter.”

The frog’s prediction came true, and the queen gave birth to a girl who was so beautiful that the king was overjoyed and decided to hold a great feast. Not only did he invite his relatives, friends, and acquaintances, but also the wise women in the hope that they would be generous and kind to his daughter. There were thirteen wise women in his kingdom, but he only had twelve golden plates from which they could eat. Therefore, one of them had to remain home. The feast was celebrated with tremendous splendor, and when it drew to a close, the wise women bestowed their miraculous gifts upon the child. One gave her virtue, another beauty, the third wealth, and so on until they had given her nearly everything one could possibly wish for in the world. When eleven of them had offered their gifts, the thirteenth suddenly entered the hall. She wanted to get revenge for not having been invited, and without greeting anyone or looking around, she cried out with a loud voice: “In her fifteenth year, the princess shall prick herself with a spindle and fall down dead.” That was all she said. Then she turned around and left the hall.

Everyone was horrified, but the twelfth wise woman stepped forward. She still had her wish to make, and although she could not undo the evil spell, she could nevertheless soften it. “The princess shall not die,” she said, “instead she shall fall into a deep sleep for one hundred years.”

Since the king wanted to guard his dear child against such a catastrophe, he issued an order that all the spindles in his kingdom were to be burned. Meanwhile, the gifts of the wise women fulfilled themselves in every way. The girl was so beautiful, polite, kind, and sensible, that whoever encountered her could not help but adore her. Now, on the day she turned fifteen it happened that the king and queen were not in the palace, so she wandered all over the place and explored as many rooms and chambers as she pleased. She eventually came to an old tower, climbed it’s narrow, winding staircase, and came to a small door. A rusty key was stuck in the lock, and when she turned it, the door sprang open and she saw an old woman in a little room sitting with a spindle and busily spinning flax.

“Good day, old granny!” said the princess, “What are you doing there?”

“I’m spinning,” said the old woman, and she nodded her head.

“What’s the thing that’s bobbing around in such a funny way?” Asked the maiden, and she took the spindle and wanted to spin too. But just as she touched the spindle, the magic spell began working and she pricked her finger with it. The very moment she felt the prick, she fell down on the bed that was standing there and was overcome by a deep sleep. This sleep soon spread throughout the entire palace. The king and queen had just returned home, and when they entered the hall they fell asleep, as did all the people in their court. They were followed by the horses in the stables, the dogs in the courtyard, the pigeons on the roof, and the flies on the wall. Even the fire flickering in the hearth became tired and fell asleep. The roast stopped sizzling, and the cook, who was just about to pull the kitchen boy’s hair because he had done something wrong, let him go and fell asleep. Finally, the wind died down so that not a single leaf stirred on the trees outside the castle. Soon, a briar hedge began to grow all around the castle, and it grew higher each year. Eventually, it surrounded and covered the entire castle, so that it was no longer visible. Not even the flag on the roof could be seen. Eventually the princess became known as “beautiful, sleeping Briar Rose,” and a tale about her began circulating throughout the country. From time to time, princes tried to break through and get to the castle. However, this was impossible, because the thorns clung together tightly as though they had hands, and the young men got stuck there. Indeed, they could not pry themselves loose and died miserable deaths. 

After many, many years had gone by, a prince came to this country and heard an old man talking about a briar hedge. Supposedly, there was a castle standing behind the hedge and in the castle there was a remarkably beautiful princess named Briar Rose, who had been sleeping for a hundred years along with the king and queen and their entire court. The old man also knew from his grandfather that many princes had come and had tried to break through the briar hedge, but they had got stuck and died wretched deaths. “I am not afraid!” said the prince, “I intend to see the beautiful Briar Rose!”

The good old man tried his best to dissuade him, but the prince would not heed his word. Now the hundred years had just ended, and the day of which Briar Rose was to wake up again had arrived. When the prince approached the briar hedge he found nothing but little flowers that opened of their own accord and let him through, like a hedge. In the courtyard, he saw the horses and the spotted hunting dogs lying asleep. The pigeons were perched on the roof and had tucked their heads beneath their wings. When he entered the palace, the flies were asleep on the wall, the cook was still holding his hand as if he wanted to grab the kitchen boy, and the maid was sitting in front of the black chicken that she was about to pluck. As the prince continued walking, he saw the entire court lying asleep in the hall, with the king and queen beside the throne. Then he moved on, and everything was so quiet he could hear himself breathe. 

Finally, he came to the tower and opened the door to the small room where Briar Rose slept. There she lay in her beauty, so marvelous that he could not take his eyes off of her. And then, he leaned over and gave her a kiss, and when his lips touched hers Briar Rose opened her eyes, woke up, and looked at him fondly. After that, they went downstairs together and the king and queen woke up along with the entire court and they all looked at each other in amazement. Soon, the horses in the courtyard stood up and shook themselves. The hunting dogs jumped around and wagged their tails, the pigeons on the roof lifted their heads from beneath their wings, looked up and flew off into the fields. The flies on the wall continued crawling, the fire in the kitchen flared up, flickered, and cooked the meat, the roast began to sizzle again, and the cook gave the kitchen boy such a box on the ear that he let out a cry while the maid finished plucking the chicken.

The wedding of the prince with Briar Rose was celebrated with great splendor, and lived happily to the end of their day. 

LORRIE

[with a bad taste in his mouth] Reaaaally can’t say I’m a big fan of the whole, like...lack of consent thing? Like, who just kisses some sleeping 115 year old? Like jesus fuck, get some manners! Like, why didn’t the prince just...try shaking her? Why did he just immediately kiss her- what the FUCK- 

Anyways, I couldn’t stop yawning during that recording, if that says anything about my thoughts on it. I hope I didn’t put you to sleep, at least. Whoever ends up listening to this. I think I need to go to bed. Goodnight, end recording.

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hello!! the podcast makes me rlly happy and just ajajajaka!! it’s super cool and i’m excited to see where it goes!

aaa thank u so much!!!! im so glad <3 

- crow

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[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 2 TRANSCRIPT

-opening music-

Lorrie: Y’know, I really like this job, I really do, but fuck. What’s up with these stories?! I thought I was gonna be reading children's books. Not that these are bad but a little bit much I guess? Anyways, where’s, where is that story. Okay, almost there. There we are. Take one of the Twelve Brothers, read by Lorrie Adams. 

Take four of the twel- f-fucking, fuck. 

Take fourteen of Twelve Brothers, read by Lorrie Adams. 

-Once upon a time there were a king and a queen. They lived happily together and had twelve children, all boys. One day the king said to his wife, "If our thirteenth child, which you are soon going to bring into the world, is a girl, then the twelve others shall die, so that her wealth may be great, and so that she alone may inherit the kingdom."

Indeed, he had twelve coffins made. They were filled with wood shavings and each was fitted with a coffin pillow. He had them put in a locked room, and gave the key to the queen, ordering her to tell no one about them.

The mother sat and mourned the entire day, until the youngest son -- who was always with her, and who was named Benjamin after the Bible -- said to her, "Dear mother, why are you so sad?"

"Dearest child," she answered, "I cannot tell you."

However, he would not leave her in peace, until she unlocked the room and showed him the coffins, already filled with wood shavings.

Then she said, "My dearest Benjamin, your father had these coffins made for you and your eleven brothers. If I bring a girl into the world, you are all to be killed and buried in them."

As she spoke and cried, her son comforted her, saying, "Don't cry, dear mother. We will take care of ourselves and run away."

Then she said, "Go out into the woods with your eleven brothers. One of you should climb the highest tree that you can find. Keep watch there and look toward the castle tower. If I give birth to a little son, I will raise a white flag. If I give birth to a little daughter, I will raise a red flag, and then you should escape as fast as you can, and may God protect you. I will get up every night and pray for you, in the winter that you may warm yourselves near a fire, and in the summer that you may not suffer from the heat."

After she had blessed her children, they went out into the woods. One after the other of them kept watch, sitting atop the highest oak tree and looking toward the tower. After eleven days had passed, and it was Benjamin's turn, he saw that a flag had been raised. It was not the white one, but instead the red blood-flag, decreeing that they all were to die.

When the boys heard this they became angry and cried out, "Are we to suffer death for the sake of a girl! We swear that we will take revenge. Wherever we find a girl, her red blood shall flow."

Then they went deeper into the woods, and in its middle, where it was darkest, they found a little bewitched house that was empty.

They said, "We will live here. You, Benjamin, you are the youngest and weakest. You shall stay at home and keep house. We others will go and get things to eat."

Thus they went into the woods and shot rabbits, wild deer, birds, and doves, and whatever they could eat. These they brought to Benjamin, and he had to prepare them to satisfy their hunger. They lived together in this little house for ten years, but the time passed quickly for them.

The little daughter that their mother, the queen, had given birth to was now grown up. She had a good heart, a beautiful face, and a golden star on her forehead.

Once on a large washday she saw twelve men's shirts in the laundry and asked her mother, "Whose are these twelve shirts? They are much too small for father."

The queen answered with a heavy heart, "Dear child, they belong to your twelve brothers."

The girl said, "Where are my twelve brothers? I have never even heard of them."

She answered, "Only God knows where they are. They are wandering about in the world."

Then she took the girl, unlocked the room for her, and showed her the twelve coffins with the wood shavings and the coffin pillows.

"These coffins," she said, "were intended for your brothers, but they secretly ran away before you were born," and she told her how everything had happened.

Then the girl said, "Dear mother, don't cry. I will go and look for my brothers."

Then she took the twelve shirts and went forth into the great woods. She walked the entire day, in the evening coming to the bewitched little house.

She went inside and found a young lad, who asked, "Where do you come from, and where are you going?"

He was astounded that she was so beautiful, that she was wearing royal clothing, and that she had a star on her forehead.

"I am a princess and am looking for my twelve brothers. I will walk on as long as the sky is blue, until I find them." She also showed him the twelve shirts that belonged to them.

Benjamin saw that it was his sister, and said, "I am Benjamin, your youngest brother."

She began to cry for joy, and Benjamin did so as well. They kissed and embraced one another with great love.

Then he said, "Dear sister, I must warn you that we have agreed that every girl whom we meet must die."

She said, "I will gladly die, if I can thus redeem my twelve brothers."

"No," he answered, "you shall not die. Sit under this tub until our eleven brothers come, and I will make it right with them."

She did this, and when night fell they came home from the hunt. As they sat at the table eating, they asked, "What is new?"

Benjamin said, "Don't you know anything?"

"No," they answered.

He continued speaking, "You have been in the woods while I stayed at home, but I know more than you do."

"Then tell us," they shouted.

He answered, "If you will promise me that the next girl we meet shall not be killed."

"Yes," they all shouted. "We will show her mercy. Just tell us."

Then he said, "Our sister is here," and lifted up the tub. The princess came forth in her royal clothing and with the golden star on her forehead, so beautiful, delicate, and fine.

They all rejoiced, falling around her neck and kissing her, and they loved her with all their hearts.

Now she stayed at home with Benjamin and helped him with the work. The eleven went into the woods and captured wild game, deer, birds, and doves, so they would have something to eat. Their sister and Benjamin prepared it all. They gathered wood for cooking, herbs for the stew, and put the pot onto the fire so a meal was always ready when the eleven came home. She also kept the house in order, and made up the beds white and clean. The brothers were always satisfied, and they lived happily with her.

One time the two of them had prepared a good meal at home, and so they sat together and ate and drank and were ever so happy. Now there was a little garden next to the bewitched house, and in it there were twelve lilies, the kind that are called "students." Wanting to bring some pleasure to her brothers, she picked the twelve flowers, intending to give one to each of them when they were eating. But in the same instant that she picked the flowers, the twelve brothers were transformed into twelve ravens, and they flew away above the woods. The house and the garden disappeared as well.

Now the poor girl was alone in the wild woods. Looking around, she saw an old women standing next to her.

The old woman said, "My child, what have you done?" Why did you not leave the twelve white flowers standing? Those were your brothers, and now they have been transformed into ravens forever."

The girl said, crying, "Is there no way to redeem them?"

"No," said the old woman, "There is only one way in the world, and it is so difficult that you will never redeem them. You must remain silent for seven whole years, neither speaking nor laughing. If you speak a single word, even if all but one hour of the seven years has passed, then it will all be for nothing, and your brothers will be killed by that one word."

Then the girl said in her heart, "I know for sure that I will redeem my brothers."

She went and found a tall tree and climbed to its top, where she sat and span, without speaking and without laughing.

Now it came to pass that a king was hunting in these woods. He had a large greyhound that ran to the tree where the girl was sitting. It jumped about, yelping and barking up the tree. The king came, saw the beautiful princess with the golden star on her forehead, and was so enchanted by her beauty that he shouted up to her, asking her to become his wife. She gave him no answer, but nodded with her head. Then he himself climbed the tree, carried her down, set her on his horse, and took her home with him.

Their wedding was celebrated with great pomp and joy, but the bride neither spoke nor laughed.

After they had lived a few years happily together, the king's mother, who was a wicked woman, began to slander the young queen, saying to the king, "You have brought home a common beggar woman for yourself. Who knows what kind of godless things she is secretly doing. Even if she is a mute and cannot speak, she could at least laugh. Anyone who does not laugh has an evil conscience."

At first the king did not want to believe this, but the old woman kept it up so long, accusing her of so many wicked things, that the king finally let himself be convinced, and he sentenced her to death.

A great fire was lit in the courtyard, where she was to be burned to death. The king stood upstairs at his window, looking on with crying eyes, for he still loved her dearly. She had already been bound to the stake, and the fire was licking at her clothing with its red tongues, when the last moment of the seven years passed.

A whirring sound was heard in the air, and twelve ravens approached, landing together. As they touched the earth, it was her twelve brothers, whom she had redeemed. They ripped the fire apart, put out the flames, and freed their sister, kissing and embracing her.

Now that she could open her mouth and speak, she told the king why she had remained silent and had never laughed.

The king rejoiced to hear that she was innocent, and they all lived happily together until they died. The wicked stepmother was brought before the court and placed in a barrel filled with boiling oil and poisonous snakes, and she died an evil death.-

These stories are… weird. They ma-ma-ma mm, make me feel weird. And I don't like it! Like, sense of impending doom sort of weird. Is-is-is-is fuck, is that normal? I don’t think that's exactly normal. I guess. Since I'm gonna have to cut this all out to send off later, I-I think I’ll just start using the aftermath of the recordings to just… talk? Just-just to log and explain what's been happening. Like, like-like-like last night, I could’ve fucking sworn I heard the book moving on its own. Like-like I don't know, it could’ve been hallucinations. I don’t even sleep in the same fucking room I record in. How the hell would I hear the pages fli-flipping if it wasn't a hallucination. It had to have just have been a hallucination, it can’t have been anything else! I dont-dont-dont like it though. Fish has been acting weird too. Not like-like weird weird but just, off? She keeps saying she doesn't feel right. Maybe she got sick? I'll have to ask her later. Gotta make sure there's, like, meds and stuff. I-i-i-f she did, get sick. It-it-it-it’s really not that bad if-if she gets sick, it's not like she's on her own or anything. [chuckles softly] she's my little sibling, i-i-i-i-i-i need to take care of her, I need to make sure that she's okay. [sighs] I just hope it do-do-do-fuck, it doesn't interfere with her schoolwork. She w-worked so hard to get into college, i-i-i-i mmm, I don't know what I’d do if someth-something made it so she got behind. She's my-she's my-she’s my best friend. I should go check on her, end recording.

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EPISODE 1 TRANSCRIPT

-opening music-

Lorrie: [Flipping pages, muttering to himself] There. Ah, alright. The Companionship of the Cat and the Mouse, read by Lorrie Adams. Take one. 

[sighs] take three. 

[mutters, sighing] The Companionship of the Cat and the Mouse. Take fifteen. 

-A cat had made the acquaintanceship of a mouse, and had talked so much about his great love and friendship for her, that he eventually convinced her to live in the same house and set up a common household. 

”But we must get supplies for the winter,” said the cat, “or else we’ll starve. A little mouse like you can’t venture just anywhere, for one of these days you might get caught in a trap.”

They acted on his good advice, and bought a little jar of fat, but they did not know where to put it. Finally, after long deliberation, the cat said: ’I can’t think of a safer place than the church, no one would dare take anything away from there. Let’s put it under the altar and we won’t touch it unless we really need it.”

The little jar was safely stored away, but it was not long before the cat felt a craving for it and said to the mouse: “I’ve been meaning to tell you, little mouse; my cousin gave birth to a baby boy, white with brown spots, and I’ve been asked to be godfather. I’m to hold him at the christening. Would you mind letting me go out today, and looking after the house by yourself?”

“No, of course not!” answered the mouse, “Go for God’s sake! And if you get something good to eat, think of me. I sure would like to have a drink of that sweet red christening wine.” 

Naturally, none of what the cat had said was true. He did not have a cousin, nor had he been asked to be godfather. He went straight to the church, crept to the little jar of fat, and began licking and licking until he had licked the skin off the top. Then he strolled over the roofs of the city and contemplated his opportunities. After a while he stretched himself out in the sun, and wiped his whiskers whenever he thought of the little jar of fat. It was not until evening that he returned home. “Well, you’re back,” the mouse said, “I’m sure you had a wonderful day.”

 “It wasn’t bad,” the cat responded. 

“What name did they give the child?” the mouse asked. 

“Skin off.” the cat said dryly. 

“Skin off?” exclaimed the mouse, “That’s a strange and unusual name, is it common in your family?” 

“What’s there to it,” said the cat, “it is no worse than Crumb-thief, as your godchildren are called.”

Shortly after that, the cat felt another great craving. He said to the mouse: “You’ve got to do me a favor again, and look after the house by yourself. I am asked to be godfather once more and, since the child has a white ring round its neck, I can’t refuse.” 

The good mouse consented, but the cat went clinking behind the city walls to the church, where he ate up half the jar of fat. “Nothing tastes better,” he said, “then what you keep to yourself.” And he was very satisfied with his day’s work. When he returned the mouse asked: “What was this child christened?” 

“Half-gone.” answered the cat. 

“Half-gone? You don’t say! I’ve never heard such a name in all my life, I'll bet it’s not on the list of proper names!”

Soon the cat’s mouth began watering once more for the delicacy. “All good things come in threes,” he said to the mouse, “I’ve been asked to be godfather again. This child is all black and has white paws, aside from that, there’s not a white hair on its body; this only happens once every few years, you will let me go, won’t you?”

“Skin- off! Half-gone!” the mouse responded, “Those are really curious names, I’m beginning to wonder about them…”

“Look. You can sit at home in your dark-grey fur coat and your long pig tail, and you begin imagining things. That’s because you don’t go out during the day.”

While the cat was gone, the mouse cleaned the house and put it in order, meanwhile the greedy cat ate up the rest of the jar.  “It’s only after everything’s all gone,” the cat said to himself, “that you can really begin to rest.”

It was very late at night by the time the cat returned home, and he was fat and stuffed. The mouse asked right away what name had been given to the third child. “You won’t like this one either!” the cat said. “It’s All-gone.”

 “All-gone!” exclaimed the mouse, “That’s the most suspicious of all the names! I have never seen it in print. All-gone; what’s it supposed to mean?” She shook her head, rolled herself up into a ball, and fell asleep.

From then on, no one asked the cat to be a godfather, but when the winter came and there was nothing more to be found outside, the mouse thought about their supply of fat and said: “Come, cat, let’s go to our jar that we’ve been saving, it will taste good.” 

“Yes,” said the cat, “You’ll enjoy the taste just as much if you stuck your dainty tongue out the window.” They set out on their way, but when they got there, the jar of fat was still in its place, but it was empty. 

“Oh!” said the mouse, “Now I know what’s happened,it’s as clear as day! Some nice friend you are! You ate it all up when you went to be a godfather. First the skin, then half, then–”

 “You better be quiet!” yelled the cat, “One more word, and I’ll eat you up!”

“All-gone” was already on the tip of the mouse’s tongue, no sooner did she say it then the cat jumped on her, grabbed her, and devoured her. You see, that’s the way of the world-

[sighs] that’ll do, I guess. 

[stretches, groans] My back’s killing me though. Gotta get this edit in and sent off. So, listening back to the recording it’s still not perfect. I guess I’ll have to do more takes! But not tonight. [sighs softly] I’ve been stuttering a lot more lately and reading aloud is still stupid hard. Thankfully Fish should be back home soon. She’ll be able to tell me if it’s an okay take, I think. [yawns] Take one of Farmer and the Warbler, read by Lorrie Adams. Once upon a time, in a land closer than any of us might fi- fuck! 

Take six of the Far- take twelve of the Farmer and the Warbler, read by Lorrie Adams. 

- Once upon a time, in a land closer than any of us might like, there was sky. Sky that went on for miles and miles, sky the milky color of cataract, sky you could choke on. There were many things under this looming infinity of clouds, but there is only time enough in this story for one.

  A thicket. More precisely, one comprised of berry bushes. You know the sort, the kind you spot on a long hike or a narrow trail and consider plucking from before your mind gets the better of you, for fear of poison. Picture it, if you will.

 No. Try again. The berries are darker than that, the thorns sharper.

 Right. There you are.

 The thicket surrounds a clearing in a tight circle, with winding trees woven through it whose canopy of leaves block out all but slivers of sun. In this clearing is a woman. She’s curled up there, shrouded by a pair of tattered wings. She’s larger than a woman, or any human for that matter, should be. Beneath her wings lies a bulging sternum, to allow for a set of lungs that would threaten to burst in any chest like yours or mine. Her arms bend at odd angles, her legs short and with a lack of any tailbone. She is curled there, she is ugly, for she is unknown to us, and she wails.

 It is nearing noon, though she would have no way of knowing this. It is at this approximate time, though, that each day she crawls to the thicket and begins to worm her way through. Scratches and cuts litter and linger on her skin from yesterday and many a day before, but she ignores the way they catch on thorn and reopen to the biting air. Ignores the tickling trickle of red everywhere she can still feel. Because today is the day, she’s sure of it. She’s going to make it through. She’ll come out on the other side, torn and tired, but wilted wings still rising to flight. To feel that air beneath them would be to know true bliss. Still, she’s aimless in her endeavour. She can only feel in front of her, cling to the dirt and to branch and swat away the swarming insects that live between these leaves and settle on her skin. She marks them, on occasion, and cannot see the smear of gut and brown they leave upon her. Her sight was long since robbed from her. The thorns had sought her eyes, spiteful for the way she longed to escape the home they’d made for her, and if it hadn’t been the poke it’d’ve been the venom. And yet she pushes on through this impossibly thick jungle of a berry bush.

 She makes it not even to the third’s way mark before she collapses into herself.

 It’s two o’clock, perhaps, when she wakes again and finds herself in the center of the clearing, no further away from this prison than she’d started. She’s glad for the size of her lungs when they allow her the breath to properly scream them out.

 If I might redirect your attention, dear reader, I ask you to imagine with me a cottage. For not far from this thicket, and its accompanying clearing, there lives a farmer. The winter had not been kind to his crops, nor the drought that followed it come spring, and what little livestock he’d kept in the barn out back fared no better. The cabinets are filled only with dishes and the occasional tin can. He stares numbly at the holes in his rotting wooden floorboards.

 Hunger laces every dusty windowsill, every rusty nail, the sparse closet and the achingly bare kitchen as hollow as his stomach. He’d had coin stocked in a great lockbox, hidden in the loose backing panel of a dresser. This had gotten him along, for a while. The prices at the marketplace are forgiving if you know where to look, and he’s practiced enough to bargain if he paints a sympathetic picture. His stomach would be sated with apples that might’ve once been crisp, and loaves of near molded sourdough. But the lockbox is near empty now, and the pit in his belly grows impatient. He can feel it fold and knot and kick at him, seeking satisfaction by eating away at itself with sharp teeth and an ever unhinging jaw. He shudders at the thought, and more to know it will not cease until he’s swallowed himself up completely, throbbing with the wholeness of it, and leaving nothing but a sigh of relief through a house that would then know what it means to be full. 

 It’s when he’s taken his finger between his bared teeth that he hears the weeping song of a warbler from just beyond his door. His gut lurches at the sound of it. Go, it whispers, go and be fed. And so he rises to weary feet, sheep wool shears from the mess of tools upon his table now tucked into the back of his pants.

 To follow this warbler’s cry is to follow the North Star to salvation, it seems, as his hunger reminds him in sweet growls that soon he will remember the warmth of meal-drunk content. How he aches for that small forgiveness, what one last small meal to a dying man might grant him some clear thought. And so he seeks it and nearly sobs with joy when he comes to the source of it. The thicket is foreboding, but no threat which he cannot face with the shears he unsheathes from his belt. He trims for what might’ve been hours or might’ve been days, but no difference is seen to him. Just a sense of soonness, and an excitement that bubbles up in him and threatens to spill out upon the final grinning snip. The warbler’s song stops short, and his eyes fall upon the frame of what he doesn’t dare to call a woman.

 For what feels like an eternity, a heavy silence between them. She sees nothing, but the presence of another is hard to ignore. She reaches out to touch, to feel, to assure herself that this is no dream. She weeps upon the sound of approaching footsteps as the farmer crouches before her.

 “No bird that’d been, then, but you, wretched creature, whose song had graced my ear?”

 “Not a song, sir, but a sorrow, for I could not free myself of this place.”

 The farmer nods thoughtfully, and rises to clasp a hand on her shoulder. “Come then, to your feet. I’ll fix you up with bandages and salve to soothe your wounds.” She clings to him and limps, wings dragging behind her, as he guides them through the worst of the thicket and along the path back to his cottage, a slow travel for how the thing’s limbs fall so heavy they threaten to sink her through the very crust of the earth.

 “Rest here, on my cot, and I will fetch the bandages.” The farmer says, and so the winged woman lays upon the surface he sets her to.

 How stiff a cot, she thinks, but does not voice, for the farmer had saved her life, and she is in no position to complain for an uncomfortable bed.

 She hears the farmer’s return not long after, and shifts toward the sound of it. “I really must thank you. It had been set in my mind that I would die there, in that clearing.”

 “I should not let that happen.” The farmer replies, “To die there in your state is a fate I would not wish upon the worst of men.”

 “Then it is in your just mind to bring me from it, though I hold you under no obligation to treat what harm it’s done to me.”

 “I should see you taken care of, for it would weigh on my conscience to leave you in this misery.” He says. This is enough for her, and so she falls into sleep as the farmer tends to her cuts and takes a wet cloth to her wings.

 It’s the heat that wakes her. Barely licking at her toes, and then consuming the space around her, hotter every moment than it had been the moment before. If she had not worn her voice from her earlier sorrow she might’ve cried for help. She sees the oven door before her no more than she had seen the table she was set upon, nor the farmer rummaging for dough or seasoning her now searing skin. Where there is only hunger, a man must make do with songbird pie.

 And so the sky waits above for wings that will not part it, a thicket begins to mend it’s shear cut path, and a winged woman howls as her flesh crispens for the chew of a starving man. And you, hiding under blankets from the dark, pretend that this land is far, far away.The end .-

The end. [sighs] Fuck it. I’m tired. That’ll have to do for now. End recording. 

-credits-

[antecedentlypod]

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