Madison Lyon


She bit into the pie.

In her mouth, the flavors exploded: brown sugar, cinnamon, flour, Granny Smith apples, and a dash of cumin. And blood. The flavors that were mixed together with love and baked at just the right temperature produced a pie filled with blood and sweat, that distinct metallic burn. It dripped red from her mouth, coloring her teeth like a Popsicle; she reached up with a napkin to wipe it from her chin.

She chewed slowly. It sounded like the breaking of bones: the fragility of fingers and knuckles all shattering in her mouth. The sound was deafening. When she breathed out, it smelled like cinnamon and cigarette smoke. The burn of the car lighter was still engraved on her tongue. The scent crinkled her nose.

She scraped the fork across the plate, gathering her next bite and it was a broken window nailed shut, unable to be forced open wide enough. Bite after bite, she ate feverously, filling her stomach with ripe apples and broken promises and buttery crust and hateful regret. No matter how hard she scraped, there was still more pie. She pulled the plate to her mouth and licked the edges, picking up stray pieces of blood and bone that couldn’t be picked up with her fork. She moved on to her fingers, cleaning the residue of crust and bloodied skin from underneath her nails.

As she licked her fork clean, she looked up with hungry eyes.

“Another,” she said, holding out her plate.


Madison Lyon is a junior at Ball State University studying English with a concentration in literature and Spanish with a concentration in literature and culture. She is very involved with the Muncie community, both through civic engagement and through artistic immersion. In her free time, you can find Madison reading, binge watching shows on Netflix, and petting every dog she sees. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at not_even_lyon.