top of page
  • Writer's pictureS. R. Schulze


Under the wind’s assault, my hair is caught in a flap of dried skin on my lips. Tiny crescents from where I had dug my teeth in. Ripping open the sensitive skin of my lips again and again. Waking up with the taste of copper on my tongue, aching jaw.

Humpback whale carcass rotting on the rocky beach. Red flesh scattered on brown shells as seagulls clumsily peck away. Tarnished bones protrude from its stomach. One, two, three ribs, once white now cracked and yellowing under the weather.

A wake of admirers stumbling after her, unaware of their own decay.

Related Posts

See All

“Amy! Come put on your shoes. I have to run to the store!” Mom’s voice echoed through the house. I huffed, flinging down my pencil. It bounced off my homework, sliding across the table. I shoved back

I’m probably the one person under thirty who still watches cable regularly, but I think the stuff that airs past 10 PM is more entertaining than anything you could find online. Whether it’s the insane

María stepped through the door of her patient’s apartment and stifled a gag. She dropped her clipboard and binder filled with notes about the young man who lived here and had to physically hold her mo

bottom of page