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The Tribe

by Daniel Vlasaty

The grass is cool against my skin. A nice contrast from the burning hot sun hanging in a sky the color of pale skin, sickly and suffocating. I’m naked, but I think I've always been this way. There’s a moment of comfort, like everything is going to be OK, before I remember that nothing is going to be OK, and everything is fucked.

Today is the day I'm to become a member of the Tribe. Today is the day I have to eat my own legs, so the new me can grow out of the old me.

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Posted in Featured Fiction