“Her tongue hasn’t always been this way. She’s pretty sure it was round and pink and human-like when she was born. It’s taken a steady diet of coffee and swear words to get her to this point, but now it’s unavoidable.” Ruth Crossman returns to The Fabulist with this chilling little fragment about the changes wrought by our bitterness.
Lately she’d been waking with the sense of having an important dream forgotten in the moment of opening her eyes. The dream would be transformative if only she could remember it. Each day as she slipped on her… Read More