Told in The Garden District
Each sip takes me further out of this house and closer to death. I hate my husband but I’m too afraid to leave him the regular way. The children are so demanding. They are not, as I tell my friends, “Little buckets of love.” So, I will sit here and sip, and sip, and sip until I go away. Suicide by sweet tea.
Told in The Garden District
I put the poison in her cup. I swear I did. He loved me before she came between us. I guess I drank out of the wrong cup so now it’s me that’s dead. Damn, I’ll have to think of another plan. Oh! I know, I won’t leave and they will have to reach through me to touch each other. It will become so tiresome and difficult and they won’t understand why! I guess now it’s me that’s come between them.
Told in Jackson Square
I will throw myself in the Mississippi if I have to marry him. Either way I’ll die, but at least at the bottom of the river I won’t be sad. This horrible white dress would drag me down. I’m sure of it.
Don’t make me go in that church!
“Ave Maria” – I don’t think so. God is not looking after me either.
I know. I’ll bide my time and make sure it’s him ends up at the bottom of the river.
“I do.”
This is Not Going to Turn Out Well
I rise for all Americans
stories heard in new orleans and other ghostly places by Dazz Rose
A place for me to tell you stuff where correct grammar is not guaranteed.
tales from the quarter 