A tiny shard hitchhiked inside her toe when she stepped on the broken glasses while chasing after a newt on a beach late last year. Her skin adopted the glass, grew around it like a burial mound
among the obscure records in her body. She likes looking at a tank full of silent stealthy creatures that  never demand to be fed, or cuddled, but instead regenerate many times over their lifespan to grow whatever is necessary:  limbs, eyes, spinal cord, jaws, tails, hearts.

“I know, I’m a bastard,” said her lover who sees her once every other week when he feels
like receiving rewards without earning: a free coffee she’d buy for him, or a blow job in her car. “You promised me I won’t have to deal with this kind of thing,” he said the other night when she told him her period was late. “Are we still on the same page, lady?”

Sometimes, the same things come to us in many forms. A quarter of a cow genome came from a snake. The same reptile cells that become a heart can make a tail. When he calls her lady, her ears auto-correct as baby. The same reason she became a herpetologist makes her love a sociopath.



I am participating in Leah’s Winter 2016 Scavenger Hunt Writing so that I would be more committed to writing daily. This is prompt number four: a herpetologist, obscure records, coffee, broken glasses.

Check out Leah’s Scavenger Hunting 2016  here:


This prompt gave me the most headache. I struggled with it quite a lot.




This entry was posted in creative writing, love, poem, poetry, prose and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to adaptation

  1. anvilsandedelweiss says:


  2. simplysuzu says:

    But you did it quite well. I read it twice from the beginning to the end.

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