Coal dust

George had cackled to himself as he coated his wings in coal dust. The crows would never know, and finally, he would get to be a ferryman of souls, rather than a lame-ass magpie whose only job was to collect shiny junk. It was only as he watched his first soul be washed up the waterfall screaming that he realised he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

By Stacey Potter

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