I’ll shed those onerous memories and transform into an animal unconstrained by terrible burdens. I’ll lead a life without guilt.
“You’re the only one I can talk to,” he’d rumble in his sexy bass. “No way I can do this with the mother of my calf. She stands with her trunk erect when I’m grazing, blasting me if I don’t reach for the tallest branches.”
She’s a little uneven and slow, too. I nudge her along, but she says in her squeaky voice, “Please stay away from me.”
Martha Anne Toll's fiction has appeared in Catapult, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, Slush Pile Magazine, Yale's Letters Journal, Inkapture Magazine, Referential Magazine, and Poetica E Magazine. Her essays and reviews have appeared on NPR, in The Millions, Narrative Magazine, [PANK] Magazine, Cargo Literary, Bloom, Tin House blog, The Nervous Breakdown, Heck Magazine, and the Washington Independent Review of Books. Martha is the Executive Director of a social justice philanthropy focused on preventing homelessness and reforming the criminal justice system. Find her on Twitter @marthaannetoll
More in this series
“Yes, there are still whales, there are still haddock, crabs, seals. Their hearts beat, muscle and sinew unaltered by steel scale or steam-powered fins. For now, anyway.”