by Jaime Gill

You could scream again.

Your lungs are still moving, after all. Just. But there are no humans nearby, only beasts.

You’d scream anyway, if your limbs still worked and you could run or fight. But only your lungs and heart are moving now.

Your pinned eyes watch nature’s cruel, ceaseless carnival. A python swallows a still-twitching iguana. Swarming ants besiege a writhing centipede.

The photography that won you fame depicted jungles as paradise, but this is a savage hell. Everything doomed to be eaten—dead or alive.

You hope your heart stops before you know which fate is yours.

Jaime Gill

Jaime Gill is a British-born writer living in Cambodia, whose stories have been published by Litro, Tulsa Review, Pinky Thinker, In Parentheses, Beyond Words, voidspace, Write Launch and others. Several stories have been finalists for awards including Masters Review Annual Award, Bridport Prize, Rigel Award, and Plaza Prize.

X: @jaimegill