She had been haunted like this in ceaseless cycles. Her body hadn’t been hers for a while. But the thought of disassembling, fiber and atom ripped to fragments, was unnerving. A threat of decomposition and collapse. This possession followed the path of the previous rounds; a pursuit of roots in her mind, shooting out greedily. Dirt under her fingernails, pickedGo to Post >>
Briane Willis (she/her) writes fiction and poetry. Her work can be seen in Solarpunk Magazine, Lover’s Eye Press, and Carmina Magazine, among others. She has an M.S. in environmental education and over a decade of informal education experience. She lives in the Texas Hill Country with her partner and young child, as well as two dogs, three cats, and a bushel of chickens. You can find her at www.brianewillis.com.