"Folklores in the Flesh" by Kailey BlountThe town, itself, was built on soil filled with secrets. Secrets spun for centuries, disguised as tall tales Nona only remembered on Sunday’s, right before dinner, when she required the help of those with small hands and big ears.
We’d set the table for eight. Hold up, nine. Thank the lord, Uncle Vinny was attending. The devil hadn’t banned him from seeing his real family yet, but just you wait till those claws of hers dig up a ring. Nona, our enigmatic storyteller, wielded Fairfield’s folklore like a scorned lover with a vendetta. Divulging the specifics sparingly, and the truth, well, what is a good story but a sin and a name? And their sins, they were countless. Men wearing chains of gold chased dirty green bills and ran from bars constructed of silver and steel. Women donned diamonds and owned red lips rogue with rumors and noses held permanently high in deceit. Nona called them old acquaintances. I called them classmates. And you. You call them The Sopranos. If Sunday nights were Nona’s, Monday mornings were mine. The new girl with chestnut ringlets dusting her neck and glasses sitting at the bridge of her nose didn’t know of Nona’s tales. She didn’t know of any at all. I intended to spill them. Never the wiser, that she would one day repeat my folklores in the flesh.
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