Somewhere on the border, where the cold and the dry kills everything that needs to be killed, somewhere around here is where I’m from. Where the weeds are lush and the grass is gone. Where the cow’s milk tastes dirty and the breast milk tastes sad. Where bodies are cremated, not buried, and you can taste their ashes in your stevia, in your tea. Where little kids do not bother to meltdown, because they know the wind will carry their screaming voices away. I am from here.
Clara is a writer of primarily fan fiction. They write with their right hand.