Savanna

“And the Fates [Night] bore, and merciless punishing Furies who prosecute the transgressions of men and gods—never do the goddesses cease from their terrible wrath until they have paid the sinner his due.”
― Hesiod, Theogony / Works and Days

“Her voice seemed to loosen something in Greta’s stomach, some knot she’d been holding on to for years, and now the knot unraveled and rushed out of her, hot and wet. Mortified, she felt it maneuvering around
the blood diaper, soaking the back of her nightgown, rolling down her legs sluggishly, as if it contained dirt or silt. She clutched her stomach. Well, this was embarrassing. What was this? Piss? Was she really pissing herself right now? She was too flustered to look. Yes, grief can be theatrical, she lectured herself. It can be extravagant. It wasn’t how she usually operated, but—oh well. Oh well, oh well, oh well. There was nothing wrong with her.”
― Jen Beagin, Big Swiss

“Although she was newly single and happier than she'd been in years, a small part of her was still ready to die, and still enjoyed telling lies.”
― Jen Beagin, Big Swiss

“I blame [my body] for making me feel selfish all the time, because my attention is turned so thoroughly inward, attending to its needs. I blame it for my fear that my writing will always be narrow, hemmed in by its hurt and relentlessness. I blame it for screwing with my plans, for always demanding revision to fit its stringent reality. I blame it for the fact that I'm alone here, though I chose it... Above all, though, I blame my body for the fact that, after all these years, I'm still grieving a plain stupid grief that I can't hide. I blame it for being itself, for existing to be ruined and repaired.”
― Molly McCully Brown, Places I've Taken My Body: Essays