Skip to main content

[FICTION] Tales From Port Astor | Biscuit Recipe

    Biscuits are an important part of any dish, and can really tie a meal together! Whether you put a sweet spread on them, dip them, or smother them, no one can doubt their versatility. This recipe comes from my grandmother, who told me that she got it from hers!

    When I was a little girl, I spent many Summer nights helping my grandmother cook supper, often making biscuits, and she'd tell me about so many things. For all the times I saw her, I never saw my grandfather. I remember asking about him once, and all I was told was that he was very faraway, but "he would always be in the blood". I thought that it was a weird way to say it, but she was raised in Europe after the war, so I thought that explained it.

    It's been a long time since I have thought about my grandmother. She loved the color red, and most of her clothes were a striking red. I remember one dress she had, a deep crimson one that had stars on it. It always struck me as a church dress, although I don't think I ever saw her go to any service.

    The last time I saw her, we were eating cooking; it was deep Winter, and a cozy flame shone from the fireplace. It had been a quiet stay, but it was nice to be able to confide in her while I still could. From nowhere, she asked me if I wanted to see my grandfather. I nodded, and I thought she was going to show me an old photo or film, but no. She began singing some song, and I couldn't place the language. Her voice was warm and sweet, and while the words were foreign, they were beautiful.

    As she sung, I saw something change in the fire. It rose and fell with her words, and in the heart of the flames, just above the embers of coals, I saw something. Almost, I saw a small figure in there, dancing and flitting to and fro, like it was moving to her voice. I watched, hypnotized, as it moved so smoothly and elegantly. I don't know when I first noticed, but as it danced I swore I could see the dancer getting closer and closer in some way, and the fire getting hotter and brighter. I came out of whatever trance had taken me; my face was burning, my eyes overflowed, and some terror overtook me. I quickly left. I told my mom when I got home, and I was never allowed to see my grandmother again.

    So! What you'll need is...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

[FICTION] Tales From Port Astor | Return To Rest

This is the third part and finale of this year's October series! Please go read part two if you have not already!       The golden light of morning shone through to paned window, and in front of you a fine breakfast. Your wife, a reporter for a local newspaper. You look upon your love, and she begins to speak, but her words are a mumble, almost underwater. You look into her eyes, the green eyes you loved so much, searching for her light, but... nothing. Then, like knives through a curtain, words.     " How long did you wait? "     " How long did you really feel that way about me? "     " How long did you pretend to miss me? "     " How long did you pretend to love me? "     You reel, your wife just sits there, beaming the same brilliant smile that she always had, looking up at you, eyes that devoured the light.     It comes back to you now. She disappeared last year, you remember the biting, haunting sorrow for h...

[Guest Writer] Gemini by Brian Rydquist

Editor's Note: This is a content warning for those sensitive to certain topics; self-harm, child loss, graphic descriptions of violence.            Sylvia bent over the lifeless bodies of the newborn infants she had just spent six hellish hours delivering. Screams of anguish poured from her diaphragm, blood soaked her nightgown from the waist down. Her husband William knelt beside her, stroking her shoulder in a futile attempt at comfort. The midwife, an elderly Inuit woman, knelt on her otherside. “Please miss,  you must lay down. Your body has suffered incredible stress, the birth was not a good one.” “My babies, my babies, this can’t be!” Sylvia shrieked, deaf to the woman’s words. “Shh, shh,” William was muttering as he rubbed her shoulders. “Maybe it won’t be, I have already sent for the spirit leader of my tribe. He should arrive any moment.” “Don’t be a fool! How dare you give my wife this false hope! You can clearly see the babie...

[GUEST WRITER] Healer/Weapon by Nico

  General content warning: This is a piece about the crossroads of our current socio-political landscape, through the lens of the author’s upbringing and life experience.  Mentions of emotional and physical abuse, rape, religious trauma, gun violence, school shootings, racism & hate crimes, and others. Topics and themes touched on are handled respectfully, but told unflinchingly.                                         W H e a l e r       p              o                      n It’s 2005. I am being raised to be a weapon.  I’m ten, or so. They split the boys and the girls off...