Enough Ribena to
       Incarnidine the Multitudinous Seas
    Andrew Gallix
My sister once made a gaggle of gingerbread pirates I imagined to be destined for doughy, doughty deeds, so gallant were they. I simply could not bring myself to eat them, had neither the heart nor the stomach to do so. The spice boys remained in battle formation on the kitchen table, but I could smell their sensuous, exotic aroma from my bedroom, even behind closed door.

That night, I had a vivid dream in which the biscuit buccaneers, still under the influence of the self-raising flour, rose ithyphallic from the baking tray. Leaping from the counter, they legged it upstairs to gang-bang the Play-Doh model of the Girl Next Door I had lovingly sculpted and kept secretly beside my comics and sensible shoes.

Breakfast, the morning after, I binged ravenously on the randy homunculi, biting off their heads with sheer abandon, tearing away at their limbs and washing them down with enough glasses of Ribena to incarnadine the multitudinous seas.

Andrew Gallix's fiction has appeared in over twenty online and print magazines and one of his stories won the author.co.uk prize for Best Short Story 2000. He lives in Paris where he teaches at the Sorbonne and edits 3AM Magazine.


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