Feral: A Short Story

by Gemma Amor

The growl, a low level threat until now, becomes a full-throated roar. The roar lasts many, many years.

I think I am going to like this

You are destined for more. You just have to believe in yourself, that's all. Wait, and rehearse. Your time will come. And make sure your vagina is neat and tidy.

In my dreams, the fox walked beside me through an endless night, and we were both hungry, but the hunger was the uncomplicated kind, for food only, and when I woke the next day, I found I’d been crying in my sleep.

At first, ignoring my reflection as diligently as I would ignore a stranger I didn’t trust felt rude, but I soon got used to the idea that I didn’t need a reflected version of me.

I wondered what it would be like to live ‘off-grid’, as people said. In a cabin, or even in a cave, or a small hollow at the base of a tree. I wondered what it would be like to feel snow land on my skin, or rise with birdsong. I dreamed of sunsets bleeding into a vast, uninterrupted horizon, and whispering grasses, towering cloudscapes, fresh bones crunching between my teeth.