[Untitled]

[trypanophobic34]

Just a short little fiction piece I wrote this weekend:

I.

I play music to her. I play Mozart, Bach’s cello suites, Cocteau Twins, whatever is my heart’s desire. I read books to her, every moment I get. I read, oh, Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, The Secret Garden, Charlotte Bronte. I rub weedy flowers freshly plucked from the field with my

Comments

[crvcifix]

Wonderful writing! I love your unique take on body horror, how that which ruptures the body is not disease or decay but rather something beautiful, internal, alive-- the child, the similes of trees, fruits, and flowers. Which I think is an interesting metaphor for pregnancy, the tension between fear and wonder.

[trypanophobic34]

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it.