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Table of contents
- Information
- The Graveyard Compilation | S Y Z Y G Y X
- The Graveyard Book
- Watch Ozzy Osbourne’s Dark Period Portrayed in ‘Under the Graveyard’ Video
- The Picnic (Generative Research)
They went about their business, running through the unmown grass and hiding behind the shed. They slammed against the fence, butting up against the chain link until it shook like it might tumble down whole.
After she split with her wife and moved into the new house with the kids, the neighbors had all been very nice. It was the kind of suburb full of people who brought over casseroles and made small talk in the yard. But the neighbor behind her had asked if she could please not let her kids run in the yard. The fucking balls on this lady. Ginny sets down her coffee mug next to the stack of bills she needs to sort through, and when she comes back to the sliding glass door all the kids have vanished. Scalps full of dirt and twigs, bodies dusty with upturned earth.
Their cheeks are rosy, teeth pearly in their tanned faces. Palm scrub is forever damp and mucky, and notoriously full of roaches. Working from home bores Ginny more than she thought it would. Nobody to hold her to anything; no one to check up on her projects. Love to set my own deadlines. To combat the creeping depression, she manufactures deadlines for herself. She holds cocktail hour at 5pm: two drinks during the work week, three on Friday nights.
All the days slide into monotony, only broken up by the sudden intrusion of The Graveyard Game and her kids taking charge of the world around them.
Information
Work, Ginny learns, is a word that has no strict meaning. It devolves into petty tasks like folding laundry or picking up cold medicine. It is no work ever; it is work all the time. Gail and Sasha slip in through the sliding glass door.
The Graveyard Compilation | S Y Z Y G Y X
Maybe a cat for her daughters. The girls both stare at her from the edge of the living room rug. They look tired, Ginny realizes. When they stand side-by-side, swaying underneath the circling ceiling fan, they look like they could be twins. They stare at her in response, identical purple circles pressed under their eyes.
She decides to keep them home from school the next day, just to give them extra rest. They both take showers, one after the other. That it might bring about more meaningful relationships in the future. She gets them glasses of water. She braids their hair to keep it from breaking and getting tangled. Settled into top and bottom bunks, Ginny snaps on the pink tulip-shaped nightlight that juts close to the door, as if it somehow infiltrated from outside and planted itself in the wall.
It is frilly and girly, something her ex-wife picked out. The girls lie completely still in their beds. They look like the corpses they imitate outside, fresh-cheeked as Snow White in her glass coffin. Ginny looks at their pale faces, their eyes already closed. When she snaps off the nightlight, the room feels like a tomb.
She closes the door slowly, letting the slice of light from the hallway illuminate the bunk bed for as long as possible before it finally snicks shut. She finds herself looking up from her computer to stare at the sliding glass door multiple times a day.
The Graveyard Book
Birds flit back and forth from the grass to the bath, the bath to the grass, seeking out bugs. She knows it would take monstrous effort to clear out the kind of clutter housed beneath palmettos. Her washer is full of broken twigs and bark and brittle pieces of oak leaves. Gail is in the fifth grade and Sasha is in third. Old enough to play without supervision, Ginny thinks. Old enough to be out with other kids.
Still, when they come in and drop off their backpacks, Ginny decides to follow them for a bit down the street to see where they go. In her front yard, her daughters stand facing the sun and squint into the light. They both wear jean shorts cut off at their scabbed knees, calves pricked with bruises. The other kids make their way over and stop in front of Gail and Sasha, awaiting orders.
After the sixth kid shows up in a dirty pair of overalls, Gail and Sasha turn and head down the street. They walk at the edge of the curb, two-by-two. Ginny slips through the front door and creeps down the driveway.
- Generative Research: Picnic in the Graveyard?
- The Graveyard Book.
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The concrete is hot under her bare feet, nearly scorching her soles. How embarrassing, for one of the neighbors to see her like that. There are bits of broken glass along the curb, acorn caps and mud. Mulch and sprinkler water. Pine needles tacky with resin. Ginny tries to think of an excuse she can give if the girls happen to turn around and see her, trailing along behind them, barefoot.
Why does she even need to give an excuse? Three houses are set back at the end, ranch-style mirrors of each other in sherbet Florida hues: pale pink, green, and blue. Her girls lead the others directly between the green and blue homes and climb over the chain link fencing, disappearing into the overcrowded palm scrub. The brush swallows up the line of them like they were never there.
Ginny stands in the middle of the street, listening for the kids. When even that noise is lost to her, she turns around and walks back home, careful of her bare feet. Ginny find it hard to concentrate on any one thing. When her kids come in from playing outside, they eat dinner hunched over their plates, nearly nodding off into the casseroles and pot pies and chicken fingers she makes to perk up their appetites.
Watch Ozzy Osbourne’s Dark Period Portrayed in ‘Under the Graveyard’ Video
Her computer goes to sleep as she stares out the sliding glass door, contemplating the sandy patches of yard that still need ant killer. When she turns back around, the screensaver is up. They crouch over the remnants of a demolished sandcastle. The moat they dug houses Sasha, grinning at the camera with a mouthful of sandy baby teeth.
Celery slathered with peanut butter and raisins, crackers with neon cheese sandwiched between them, tangerines, packages of yogurt you drink by ripping off the ends with your teeth.
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She puts on her dark sunglasses, her beach hat. She hurries into the house and throws everything into the hall closet and slams the door. Lets them walk past her into the bathroom before she gets up to make their macaroni and cheese. When she puts them to bed, they ask for the nightlight.
The Picnic (Generative Research)
She closes the door firmly behind her and makes sure it clicks shut. The food inside has soured to slime. Thankfully Sharon was there to pick me up and believe in me. This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website.
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