Deep down the girl was a marshmallow. When her body changed, men looked at her like they wanted to eat her. So she grew scissors, razors, knives. Enough to cover her body. Make them know she does the eating.
One afternoon a boy without permission caressed her hunting knife. In a flash she freed the jaws of her strongest shears and snipped the offending digit. A pointer finger with a scratched knuckle dropped into the mulch like a loose tooth. He blinked, stunned. He never dreamed there might be consequences. While he screamed, she cleaned the bloody shears.





Chelsea Stickle lives in Annapolis, MD. Her work has previously appeared in The Fem and Jellyfish Review. Find her on Twitter @Chelsea_Stickle.

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