by Andrew Jackson
Mother’s awful tongue was displayed on the mantel in a Perspex cube, swimming in a bath of clear formalin.
She was sitting at the head of the table, looking disappointingly shrivelled, a loose stitch protruding from beneath her left ear. Gemma’s business specialised in rabbits and guinea pigs, but it wasn’t bad for a first attempt.
“How did I do?” Gemma asked her wife.
Ruby winked across the table, twirling a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs around her finger. “She always worried about what we got up to…why don’t we give her a show?”
Gemma loved this woman
Andrew Jackson is a science fiction, thriller, and horror writer based in Surrey, England. He grew up on Star Trek, Alien, and videogames he was too young to play. His debut sci-fi novel is in progress.