Maxwell

When Maxwell slept, he always dreamed of chocolate. According to his psychoanalyst, this was a long repressed association he had with the candies his mother gave him as a child. His medical doctor insisted it was a result of his chocolate allergy (technically three different allergies to milk, nuts, and soy, but who's keeping track). His wife believed it was a sign he should get her a Valentine's Day gift (collateral damage be damned).

Maxwell visited a dream analyst. She said chocolate represents an indulgence, and his subconscious was telling him to live life.

In other words, death by chocolate.

Sophie's Voice

It got to the best of them.

“Yes, I went to that movie, have those boots, test-drove that car just the other week,” Sophie would yipe.

There was nothing she had not lived, owned, eaten, worn, dated, or experienced by association: no conversation – however private or surreptitious – she didn’t inveigle her way into.

They decided to invent something to teach her a lesson.

“Went to that gig you recommended, Gloria. Buttinskis? Wow!!”

“Nosey can fairly play that bass, eh?”

“Oh yes, I went to their debut last month,” Sophie interjected.

Their shared smirk soured at her gormless need to belong. 

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid