by Jessica Gleason

Candace, using her neon polished nails, picked a cornflake-looking scab from her sallow arm. The black wound beneath smelled of rotten fruit, sweet and rancid. She dug a finger into the gaping hole and revelled in the pain it brought.

Coughing, she wiped blood and spittle from her mouth, and laughed as another of her loose, rotted teeth fell free from her angry gums. She rolled the tooth around in her mouth, enjoying its jagged surfaces, and then swallowed it for fun.

Six days ago she’d have been repulsed by such an action, but today she felt feral and free.

 

Jessica Gleason

Jessica Gleason writes horror, sacrificing sleep to expel unkind monsters from her aching head.