The Lamb

I wondered if we were born with something broken inside us. Maybe it was in the deepest marrow of our bones, some place we couldn't see or touch. Maybe that's why we couldn't love each other the way we were supposed to.

Nature was beautiful. But we did such a good job of making it ugly.

Men are forever thought of as boys. But girls? Once we’re mamas or once we’re ripe, we can never be girls again. Not in their eyes. But we are always girls and daughters, underneath. Always.

You were supposed to be a promise of happiness, but you've eaten me alive.

I wondered if this was what being a real human was: accepting you were pieces of other people too. The people you loved and the people you hurt.

She carried something terrible with her. She kept her grief subdued and quiet – so much so, it had begun to rot.

He loved the idea of me before he peeled back all the layers.

I’ve never understood why mamas are expected to be perfect,’ she said. ‘Men are forever thought of as boys. But girls? Once we’re mamas or once we’re ripe, we can never be girls again. Not in their eyes. But we are always girls and daughters, underneath. Always.

The devil looks as ordinary as you and me.

On my fourth birthday, I plucked six severed fingers from the shower drain.

Years feel longer when you aren’t loved the way you want to be. Or the way you’re supposed to be.

Mama didn’t feed me from breast or bottle. She gave me blood.

It’s impossible to truly know someone who hides so much of themselves and consumes so much of others.

On my fourth birthday

And Mama was in love. Desperately in love. But she wasn’t in love with me. And I don’t think I was in love with her either.

We all need different sorts of love to make us feel whole.

I feel as though we've known each other longer than our hearts have beaten.

We can be different for a while but we'll never change what is true in our bones and brains.

I wondered why we couldn’t fit together like other mamas and their kits. I wondered if we were born with something broken inside us. Maybe it was in the deepest marrow of our bones, some place we couldn’t see or touch. Maybe that’s why we couldn’t love each other the way we were supposed to.

I watched Mama and Eden, wondering if Abbie and I would hold each other like that one day, middle-aged and hungry and drinking wine like grown-ups.

We are what we eat, Mama always said. I wondered if it was worth the fuss of making them feel loved if we were only going to pull them apart in the end.

Men love the idea of women. They love the question about a woman. The mystery yet to be solved. Then, when he discovers she has a personality all of her own, neuroses and quirks, just like him, he decides

That’s something he was an expert in. Loving the idea of someone. He loved the idea of me before he peeled back all the layers.

Just like the rabbit woman, somehow I knew I’d linger long after the homestead was lost and I’d become secrets and stories told around fires. I wasn’t sure how much time was passing, but I felt ancient, like a long-forgotten standing stone or a language no longer spoken. As old as hills, as old as water, and as old as the beginning itself. Soon enough, the landscape would shift, the beck becoming a stream and the stream becoming a river. Then, one day, hot and bothered, this earth would become an ocean and forget all about us. Slumbering, keeping out of trouble, the monsters were fated to dream. Because I made it so, this ground was safe for the strangers to tread.

The world was hot and bothered. Redness webbed across the room. My organs throbbed. The pain was sharp but, as the world faded from reach, it all became dull. And soon the redness faded to grey. There were no final thoughts in my head. I was only afraid of the darkness I felt coming around me. At some point I fell asleep, and the pulse I’d felt all my life finally stopped beating.

I didn’t see my eyes anymore. They were fragments of strays who’d come before. I wondered if this was what being a real human was: accepting you were pieces of other people too. The people you loved and the people you hurt.

The woods were quiet. Even the ceaseless whispering between trees had quietened to watch the forest floor. There were no rabbits. And even when I turned the mossy stone by the fallen tree, the cluster of woodlice was nowhere to be seen. Every creature was hiding from me.

Sitting at my desk, a lump formed in my throat, contracting until tears perched at the edges of my eyes. Each drop fell into my workbook and smudged my graphite scribbles. Now my words bled over the lines.

We can’t save each other. Not really,’ Eden said, pinching my shoulder with her fingers. ‘What people don’t know, Little One, is that the most dreadful things happen out in the open while the sun shines bright up in the sky and no one can do a thing about it. Those who watch don’t care and pretend they don’t see. They burrow and forget.

She looked the way I imagined women had looked thousands of years ago, without airs and graces and preconceptions. She was just a person, held up by bone. ‘The storm hasn’t cleared yet,’ Mama