Woman In Silhouette

I still remember the night when you left me, air thick with mist, the full moon hanging low like a moth in a tomb of cobwebs. Your deceitful voice was floating like paint fumes, stretching through the void.

«Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be back in a bit,» you said, kissing my forehead with stone-cold lips, smoothing my braids with moist and stiff hands.

Time has swallowed hundreds of full moons ever since, its belly round and black, cradled my sleepwalking heart, watched your features fading away from my memory. Now there’s nothing left of you but a woman in silhouette...

From Guest Contributor Cristina Iuliana Burlacu

Getting Under Her Skin

After a pupa has transformed into an adult moth, even a scientist has a difficult time connecting the new form with the old.

Similarly, when mild-mannered Bruce Banner gets antagonized and changes into the Hulk, it's hard to believe they are the same individual.

There are many examples of such disparate metamorphoses in nature.

But nothing can be so shocking as the enantiodromia my mother undergoes after she discovers that I've forgotten to do my chores. Where once was a loving parent who'd literally give her life for mine, now there's a raving lunatic intent on cutting short my existence.