Louise Worthington
My friend blushed when she said she’s treading on eggshells. Family tries to touch with words of compassion. It feels like they’re petting their dog.
No sermon brings comfort or understanding. These four bruised walls are the closest thing obediently watching the dormant volcano in my womb, the lava spewing in my veins, from my mouth, into this pen.
When the morning comes, sunlight is a beefy slap on my eyelids. There are not even the coattails of dreams of motherhood to catch. I chew crushed ice because Mother Nature gave me old raspberries for eggs, long fuzzy and furry.
I ball my pillow into a fist. Silence is long fingernails on glass. Taste is a wet ashtray. My nerves jangle and ring like an unanswered telephone.
Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
My nightdress is cellophane and cotton, but it feels like hessian.
Nothing is coming out of this body except words.
***
Louise Worthington writes horror and psychological thrillers. She is the author of six novels. Many of her novels explore motherhood, mental health disorders, revenge and family. Her tales are imbued with strong emotional themes and atmospheric settings. Her latest novel is Doctor Glass, and her poetry and shorts are brought together in the collection Stained Glass Lives and Visited by Dreamscape. She has a degree in literature and a postgraduate diploma in psychology. Louise lives on a farm in Shropshire, in the UK. Find out more at https://linktr.ee/louiseworthington.