Notes on an Execution

by Danya Kukafka

This was how it always went, wasn’t it? All those women who’d come before her, in caves and tents and covered wagons. It was a wonder how she’d never given much thought to the ancient, timeless fact. Motherhood was, by nature, a thing you did alone.

Tragedy had a texture. A knot, begging to be unraveled.

Saffy recognized the monster in her own body. A wild creature, reaching out hungry, starving for annihilation. She glimpsed that same craving in Jenny Fisk—an ask, for suffering. It was the scariest thing about being a woman. It was hardwired, ageless, the part that knew you could have the good without the hurt, but it wouldn’t be nearly as exquisite.

You were impossible. Beyond help. You would never be more than your own creature self.

Lavender wanted to tell them what she had learned about demons. Often, they were not demons at all—only the jagged parts of herself she’d hidden from the sun.

How would the universe look now, if she had saved her children instead of herself? * * *

For the first time, Hazel felt bigger than her sister. The feeling was so sick, so addictive, she knew she could never let it go.

The evening dimmed to a lilting, satin blue.