by Anastasia Jill

Hydro—

Foam, like venom bile. Jaws, square and concrete, hit the floor. Throat open, wide open

and dry as a desert. Shaking, shaking, shaking—Please! I’m so scared.

My mouth is so large, but my throat is so small.

Water, water? WATER! NO! Get away from me—

—phobia

Brain? It is so heavy; it is sick; it is not mine. It’s in the bats

and racoons and foxes and coyotes that ravaged me.

Blood, it is rabid, scratching its way out of my failing skin.

I’m scared and dying. Please, tear my red lane open. Please.

I just need a drop

to drink—

Anastasia Jill

Anastasia Jill (they/them) is a queer writer living in Central Florida. They have been nominated for Best American Short Stories, The Pushcart Prize, and several other honours. Their work has been featured or is upcoming with Poets.org, Sundog Lit, Flash Fiction Online, Contemporary Verse 2, Broken Pencil, and more.