A novella by Christina Bergling



From The Waning:

I am in a fucking cage.
I was taken. Someone took me.
Someone is keeping me here. For some awful reason.
How am I ever going to get out here?
When are they going to kill me?
They are going to kill me. Or worse.

When my instincts and my mind did unite and decide to chime in, it was with one singular contribution: This is the end.

And when all waves fell away, it was me and those bars at first. Those abrasive, cold, alien bars pressing into me at every angle, containing my fury. Fire burned down my limbs as they begged for freedom and mobility. My mind throbbed against my skull in sympathy. Every cell of my body felt simply trapped.

I tried to fidget to dispel the sensation. I attempted to shift my limbs around to deceive my body into feeling movement. My flesh was not so easily fooled. Perhaps because I could not banish the thought that I was confined in a tiny cage. The thought dripped through the cracks of my mind and pooled in my angry muscles, accelerated the burning denial in my body. I shook my legs and wrung my hands, taking ragged, forced breaths, trying to ignore the thoughts and the feelings.”

Artwork by the talented Phillip Beachler, the Graphics Smith.


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