(not quite) a literary journal


'The Self-Starting Saboteur: a short story of sorts, or rather, not at all.' & 'vain, with a tendency towards beauty,' by Sad Girl no last name

The Self-Starting Saboteur: a short story of sorts, or rather, not at all. 

A women reading alone in the room closest to the front door is hiding from people that she knows-playing board games, and chattering about lunching. 
She avoids human interaction at all cost these days. She heals when she is alone, she says. The truth of the matter: could be otherwise. She puts the book down to listen to what she has to say. She spends a lot of time talking to herself. She whispers cruel things to the reflection in the mirror and lays curses upon the future prospects of the girl wearing her scuffed up shoes. It's funny really, how little the girl trusts herself; how much less she trusts everyone else. 
Suspicion manifested in the form of ground down teeth; a chronic, clenched jaw for holding it all in. She bent her shoulders down and inward in order to blend; to fade 
in to the background. She found that if you weighed just about 30 lbs too much at any given time most men would look the other way, and women wouldn't call you fat out loud. She suspected they may have thought it anyway. Shirts three sizes too big to distort the body she didn't want touched, seen, sensed. 

-This is how she chose to start the story. How could she expect it to end?

vain, with a tendency towards beauty

The snake is a glorious creature
Misunderstood by those who meet her 
She recoils at crowds, wishing to be left on her own 
She basks in the sun, but under 
the rock 
so that you don't bother her 
She means you no harm but will bite off your arm 
If you ignore the obvious distance she places between you.

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