Say You Don't

by Dhasi Mwale

Michael found hilarity in the macabre, and the marred, twisted corpse of his brother's lovelorn wife gave him such a fit of laughter he got the hiccups. His brother's shout for him to quit it was a clap of thunder and the humans below scurried in search of shelter, although a few lingered to gawk at the corpse sprawled on the tarmac as police sirens wailed in the distance. The lawmen would find her suicide note in the sinfully comfortable penthouse she shared with her husband of ten years, who that morning had told the truth for the second time in their ten years together; he'd loved her and now he didn't. His first truth was his name, Lucifer, and she'd thought his parents odd and wished they'd been alive for her to meet. Michael wiped away the tears and said in between hiccups, "The punchline is that for once it is true. The devil made her do it."


Dhasi Mwale admires castles in the sky and is determined to live there before the age of fifty. You can follow her on Twitter or swing by here.

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