Every morning she woke to the noise and to the smell of cooking. She heard the sound of knife against the stone shelf in the kitchen; a rhythmic chop chop. The smell of turmeric filled the tiny apartment as she walked out of the bathroom, her hair still wet. Metal clinked as she made her way out of the apartment, with hot steel tiffin stuffed in her handbag.

The bus was crowded and she stood stuck between two sweating passengers. Not that the stench could overpower the detested smell of food.

At work, she put her tiffin in the hot case, where it sat next to several others of its kind. Yellow oil dripping out of it. However hard she tried, some yellow oil always found its way out of the tiffin. Strong smell of onions engulfed the pantry. Day after day. Overtime, the curtains, the furniture, everything acquired the smell.

Her only escape was in the shower. Where she could smell the pure smell of water…until she walked out to smell the splintering mustard seeds again.

SUBMUNITIONS: stories inside 100 200 words, inspired by Devil's own Warren Ellis.


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