By Chris Braak

Chris Braak is a novelist and playwright from Philadelphia. He is also the curator of Threat Quality Press, an internet miscellany featuring signs, portents, wonders, &c.

  1. Turned in my arms to find a breast to suckle. Finding nothing, he sucked at the air instead, gaining neither nourishment nor satisfaction.

    Writhed against his confinement whether he was swaddled or not, as though trying to free himself from bonds that were interior to his psyche.

    Reached out new hands for something firm to grab onto; found nothing but emptiness.

    Screamed for hours without stopping.

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