Sarah Eyre

“Once, after I’d left him, I stayed in bed for three days with a stack of novels and several packets of custard creams and I bled without restraint. I wanted to see how much of a gorgeous, spicy mess one womb-governed body could make. I wanted to turn the bed sheet into a Rorschach test, a map, a missive, a squeeze, a jubilant shout. I made scabs and poppies. I bred silky scarlet gloop and jammy crusts, liver spots, dropped plums. Then I let it dry and pinned it up on the wall. I spent a lot of time looking at it, deciphering the shapes. There were horses, waves, church spires, tulips, crocuses, lotus flowers, fiery dragoons. It was really quite beautiful and energising to see it hung like a painting, exuding the vague scents of malt, seaweed and yeast. It made me feel quite empowered. All that blood. All my thick, rich healthy blood. All those clever stains I’d created.”
― Sarah Eyre, The New Abject: Tales of Modern Unease

“In the tube, Hazel was unaware that the day which had promised so well had clouded over, and when she got to her destination, distracted by the small piece of work she had been able to do on her journey, she did not even remember that the morning had started fine.”
― Sarah Eyre, The New Abject: Tales of Modern Unease