Heather

“I can’t believe nobody’s ever going to laugh at my jokes again. I can’t believe it. It’s all gone, I’m the only one left. It’s just me and you and no more jokes.”

She said, “I still love you.”

And he laughed and said, “That was a good one.” Then he wept again.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

“But you didn’t even get me a six-month birthday present,” she whispered pathetically. “I didn’t get the beach party, or a cake, or any dogs.”
“Honey of course I got you a birthday present,” said Pyrrha instantly. “I bought one the day of the broadcast. I went and got you a new T-shirt—the expensive kind, not the ones that dissolve when you wash them. I hid it under the sink.”
Nona sucked in a breath. “Tell me about it,” she whispered. “Describe it exactly.”
“Uh,” said Pyrrha, and flicked her eyes up at Paul. “Okay, so, I hadn’t cleared this with the powers that be, but it was a picture of a moustache—like the facial hair, but a cartoon?—and then there were words below it. Look, you had to see it, I’m not sure I can describe it in a way that…”
“Pyrrha, I want to know what it said.”
Now Pyrrha avoided Paul’s gaze.
“It advertised cheap moustache rides,” said Pyrrha. “We’re talking low prices.”
Nona started to cry softly, overwhelmed.
Paul said, “Palamedes wouldn’t have let her wear that outside the house.” Then: “Camilla wouldn’t have let her wear it inside, either.”
“Yeah, but what about you?” said Pyrrha.
“Her choice,” said Paul. “I think moustache rides should be free.”
“It would have been my favourite present except for the handkerchief,” said Nona breathlessly. “I’m going to go back and fetch it. I’ll remember. I’ll make myself remember. And I’ll wear it all the time, inside the house and outside the house, and then you’ll know it’s really me. I’m not going to be gone forever…I’m ready. Im ready. Let’s go.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

“They all agreed that whatever made Nona happy at school made Nona happy at school, but the bottom line remained that she shouldn’t buy anybody drugs.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

“You told me, Sleep, I’ll wake you in the morning.
I asked, What is morning? and you said,
When everyone who fucked with me I’d dead.

When everyone we loved has gone or fled,
That’s morning. Empty’s just another word for clean.
Let’s put this first draft dream of mine to bed.

I the appointed hour
I’ll pull up your sheets. I’ll kill the light,
Lie down beside you; die; and sleep the night.

This time will be the time we get it right;
Forgiveness not so hard, nor anger long;
Our graves will be less deep, our lies less true

You held aloft the sword.
I still love y”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth