short story

Creative Writing

Inside a Body


This flesh, they tell me that it’s mine. They point to me and spell out those words, their mouths forming long O’s and wide A’s. This flesh, if I tug at it, if I carve into it, if I dispose of it, will never escape me. It will grow with me, grow on me and spore. If I choose not to love it, they will not take it…

Creative Writing



First (she raises her left eyebrow a fraction upwards, the arch causing wrinkles to appear across her forehead) – suspend belief for a moment – this is what the woman across from her says, her hair draping down like a curtain to cover her face as she jots something down on the pad sitting in her lap. Think of something warm. Breathe in. Deeper. No, deeper than that.…