A novella by Christina Bergling



From The Waning:

“I heard You stripping off Your gloves as You walked out the door. I was left trying to find myself again.

I could not bear to look down and see the piece absent from my side, the hole now in me. I fought the curiosity of my eyes, but I could not keep them from the instrument tray.

And the dripping strip of my flesh draped over it. It was thicker than I would have imagined, warbled with the fresh blood. There were no words for what it looked like separated from my body. Something about the very sight brought my stomach into my throat. I choked back a heave and forced my eyes

I began wailing from my core, the sound shaking my entire ribcage and the teeth in my gums. I could not contain it. I wanted my skin back. I wanted out
this place. I wanted You dead. Hopelessness swallowed me like the sea, my inarticulate laments raged like the crashing tide.

How could I live through this?”

Artwork by the talented Phillip Beachler, the Graphics Smith.


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