This post is based on articles from The Toast.
Companion post: How to tell if you’re in an Inka York novel
How to tell if you’re in an Inka York short story …
You wake up on a stretching rack.
Love is tragic.
Your cat has adopted your sworn enemy.
A small hedgehog boy has moved into your garden and parties hard every night.
There is a fire. You started it.
Your parents are over-invested in your love life.
You’ve lived seven lives. You’re still stupid.
You built a man to share with your best friend, but he falls in love with the boy next door.
You live in a house full of hourglasses, statues or kelp.
Your time machine is fucked.
You puked on the love of your life, and now there’s a waterfall in your living room.
Somebody thought it was a good idea to call you Custard.
You smoke a lot of pot, but that’s not why you can see four moons.
If someone gave you binoculars and a map, you still wouldn’t find any straight people.
There is fruit. Fruit is sexy.
You’re made of wood, marble, metal or dust.
A promotion at work means dealing with living humans. Ew!
You were only dead for six minutes.
Your last lady’s maid died of fright when she saw what you looked like first thing in the morning.
If someone tells you you’re not a monster, you’re probably a monster.