The Madeleine Machine by ​Megan Hunter

What was the earth like?

My sister asks this every night, leaning back on her pillow. The question is part of our routine, along with brushing our teeth, peeing, pushing our legs into the soft holes of our pajamas.

Sometimes I tell her about the forests and mountains, or what it felt like to sink into a cold sea: slowly, then all at once. Voices on the radio. Cities seen from planes.

But tonight she just wants to hear about biscuitsI list brand names, types, varieties of shape and filling. Bourbons, Jaffa Cakes, Oreos, Kit Kats. Party rings, I tell her, were pink and purple, in the shape of a circle, with a hole in the middle. They were covered in swirls.

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