When God was a Rabbit

by Sarah Winman

‘Memories,’ she said to me, ‘no matter how small or inconsequential, are the pages that define us.’

the craving he still felt for that person we no longer talked about; that person who’d taken him apart and left a piece missing that none of us could find.

until the raging energy that coursed through my body finally revealed itself and gave itself name: envy. For I knew already that something had taken me from me, and had replaced it with a desperate longing for a time before; a time before fear, a time before shame. And now that knowledge had a voice, and it was a voice that rose from the depths of my years and howled into the night sky like a wounded animal longing for home.

I felt a sensation upon my skin as if I was falling through feathers.

knew she’d gone, as if the very air that once inhabited her body had been sucked out and replaced

spliff, but soon realised it couldn’t be because my mother still had her top on.