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Damage 

Note: This piece was published in Crack the Spine The Year Anthology 2020 Flash Fiction. 

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Most girls my age dream of boys and clothes. I dream of car crashes.  

The accident’s terrible, of course. Blood and screams; anxious whispers; worried faces that blur in and out of vision. 

My dreams are tinged with red: broken flesh, skin ripped like cloth, honeyed fat spilling out through the cracks. 

A sleight of hand, and I’m in a hospital. White, sterile. Nurses with blond hair hanging in a plastic sheet. Sharp noses. Somber voices only.  

She’ll have to get it redone.

Get what redone? my parents want to know. 

Her body, of course, the nurse says. There is an intense discussion, the fierce waving of hands and hissing of words. 

Would there be much of a difference? my mother asks, face crinkling like paper. 

Oh yes, the nurse says. Her lips, for one. And the fat on her stomach, her thighs. It’s quite severe. 

A heavy pause. 

And dear God, her eyebrows, the nurse adds, bobbing her head. We’ll probably have to get her a new pair. 

So much damage. 

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Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

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