Such Sharp Teeth

by Rachel Harrison

It’s a particular form of torture that I wish I were alone in, though I know I’m not. For some reason I can never fully trust my own experience. I’m always treating myself like an unreliable witness. I offer no empathy, only an endless cycle of interrogation.

She, like me, suspects that exhibiting a sliver of vulnerability will cause the universe to implode.

Bad things have a way of severing your life into “before” and “after.” It’s really annoying.

Having a nightmare during a nap seems particularly cruel. Regular sleep, fine. But to be betrayed by a nap? Uncool.

I always hated this small-town-grapevine nonsense. That’s something I love about the city. The anonymity. No one knows who you are, and no one gives a shit about your business. It’s a beautiful thing.

I learned young how to pretend like bad things never happened. It’s scary how easy it’s been to dissociate

That’s what I told myself. It wasn’t that bad.

My strength doesn’t come from the bad things that have happened to me. It defies those things.

I forgot. I’m so used to being reminded how ugly a place the world can be, I forgot it could be beautiful, too.