By Michelle Raskey – A Dream. A short story start? You tell me.

At first glance I thought she had tried to unsuccessfully swallow a mouthful of coffee grounds. Brown crumbs fell out her parted lips, her mouth too small to hold everything. Then I realized that her jaw was detached, lower mandible slack, held in place by flesh that looked stretched to capacity. She tried to speak, I tried to look away. I was sure my expression was at the very least shock veiled in horror. I peered, staring at the grotesqueness of the beautiful girl. I can’t remember if I spoke out loud or thought it, “Does it hurt? How does it work?”

“This is the only way to keep my face together,” she mumbled, tufts of soil falling out her mouth. Black , rich, fertile soil. She swung back on her neck, gaped open, eyes rolling back in her head in death or ecstasy, revealing her contents. A forest floor was in her mouth. An orchard’s worth of roots, all tangled together, were keeping the earth and her jaw intact, just enough. She quickly shut it, a puff of dust escaping in time with her eyes rolling back into their place.

“You should only open your mouth when you absolutely have to,” I thought to her.

She looked out the window of our taxi, waiting for her stop.