” Season of the Bitch” excerpt
I suppose I am but breaking down, sans adjective, breaking down in the simplest of manners, following the easiest road to zero, where bones go underwater.
He looks at me and lowers his eyes. Will we have wings when we're dead? he asks. Thinking of his hopeful lungs crammed out with saltwater makes me sad. A lot of good they'd do us underwater, says I. Then fins, says he, We shall have fins when we're dead.
I am a cadaver, they'd told me, Something to be picked apart, and by then I was already weeping, trying to crawl from the spot where they had put me down. I rolled onto my back, as to die in the correct manner, it must have taken the better part of the day. The last thing I recall, for once, he is mine.”